


Drabbles and One-Shots (NSFW edition)

by budgeridoo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:58:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/budgeridoo/pseuds/budgeridoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of GerIta/ItaGer drabbles and one-shots of the medium-to-highly explicit variety. Knock yourselves out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Little Scared, A Lot Enthusiastic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italy and Germany are both awkward virgins. Over the course of this story, one of those things will change.

In retrospect, Feliciano probably could have picked a better time to ask than lunch. Especially since they were eating in a café, especially since Ludwig was never good at talking about  _these_  sorts of things,  _especially_  since, being in a café, they would be unable to properly discuss the subject- but it was really important that Feliciano ask  _now_.

“Ludwig, do you want to have sex?”

See? It was  _really important_! Because they’d been together for Feliciano-didn’t-know-how-long- and Ludwig was great, he really was, and Feliciano loved him- but they’d never got farther than handjobs and Feliciano didn’t know if he was shy or embarrassed or waiting until marriage or just didn’t want to-

Though now, he was tending toward the first two, since Ludwig had gone pink and kind of bug-eyed and was spluttering a little. 

"I- ah- Feli, this is not proper material for, ah, public discussion-" His ears were red and he was glancing around the café nervously, like he thought someone would be listening. And probably nobody was because they were all eating lunch and if they did overhear they’d definitely understand because this was really, really important!

"We don’t have to talk about it right now but could you answer the question?" Ludwig hunched his shoulders and looked at his mostly-empty plate, but then he looked back up, into Feliciano’s eyes, and said, "Um. Yes," very quietly.

"Oh, good!" chirped Feliciano. "Great! So, how about tonight?"

Ludwig was still blushing furiously. “I.. okay. Yes. Tonight is good.”

"Great! We’ll do it tonight, then," Feliciano said cheerily, turning his attention back to the remains of his meal.

* * *

 

Feliciano stared in confusion at the store shelf.

"Wow," he said eventually. "There’s… a lot of choices, huh, Ludwig?"

"Mm." Ludwig had somehow maintained a constant state of constant low-level embarrassment the entire afternoon, but eyed the shelves critically. "We should probably get… silicon-based lubricant." Silence. "Well, that’s what Gilbert told me, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t lying…"

"Francis said the same thing, yeah."

Ludwig looked incredulously at Feliciano and said, “You asked  _Francis_?”, which was a little unfair because Francis wouldn’t get as mad at him as Lovino would have and probably knew more about it too, and he said as much.

"-and don’t worry, he didn’t do anything, he just pinched my cheeks and called me adorable a lot. Also he suggested this brand of condom," the brunet chattered, reaching for a box. "How was Gilbert, anyway?"

Ludwig shrugged a little, weighing two bottles of lube. “About as embarrassing as expected. I asked about what we’d need and he started laughing and patting me on the back., and then he started on about how ‘his baby brother was finally becoming a man’.”

"Huh."

“ _Then_  he made me sit down and gave me some suggestions, and he said to tell you that if one of us isn’t unable to walk by tomorrow he’ll write a will just to disown us.” Ludwig appeared to have chosen a brand of lube. “Do we have everything?”

"I think so." Ludwig had already insisted that they were  _not_  going to the checkout together and he’d pay Feliciano his share later, which Feliciano thought was a little weird but he’d kind of expected it, knowing Ludwig. 

* * *

 

This would all be a lot easier, Feliciano thought, if one of them knew where to start. As it was, he didn’t, and Ludwig didn’t, so here they were, sitting on the bed, facing each other in their underwear.  
  
“Um.” Ludwig scratched at the back of his head.  
  
“So.” Feliciano exhaled slowly, puffing out his cheeks.  
  
“Should I…” Ludwig trailed off and ran a hand through his hair, which was down and ungelled for once, and Feliciano decided that probably kissing was a good place to start. He scooted forwards and leaned up into a soft kiss, and Ludwig returned it after an initial pause, tentatively placing his hands on Feliciano’s back. Heartened, Feliciano rested a hand on the back of Ludwig’s neck and slipped his tongue into Ludwig’s mouth, almost innocuously dropping his other hand onto the German’s thigh. And Feliciano was  _not_  going to give him time to tense up, so he dug one foot into the bed and pushed until the pair toppled over and landed with a “fwump” sound.  
  
The Italian still wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this- well, he knew where he wanted to go, the problem was getting there- but now at least they were both lying down, and that was a start, right?  
  
(Actually, Francis had said you didn’t  _have_  to be lying down, you could be sitting up or bending over or standing or even upside down, but then he’d started looking very far away and Feliciano had gotten a little worried.)  
  
The pair were still kissing, and somehow the kisses had become harder and sloppier, and Feliciano wasn’t sure how they’d gotten that way but it was  _good_ , Ludwig was a great kisser even if he did get embarrassed about it. Except Ludwig wasn’t kissing him anymore, he’d pulled away and was not quite looking at Feliciano, and his cheeks were flushed and his lips were kind of swollen, and when he said “Feli, you’re- sure about this?” his voice was a little hoarse and the Italian couldn’t help kissing him again.  
  
“Of course I am, Ludwig,” he smiled once the kiss had broken. And Feliciano was, even if he wasn’t sure of some things right now, but he  _did_  want to do this. And when Ludwig smiled a little and said “Then we should probably remove our undergarments,” flushing so hard it was almost luminescent (and the red had spread down his neck and across his chest), Feliciano grinned so widely it almost hurt and wriggled out of his boxers faster than he’d ever done before.

By the time Feliciano had kicked his boxers a suitable distance away, Ludwig had shoved his own down his legs, and by the time Ludwig’s were completely off Feliciano sprawled between his legs, holding Ludwig’s face in his hands and rubbing circles along his strong cheekbones. Feliciano pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose before dragging a hand down between their bodies and making them both groan.  
  
After a little while of moving his hand up and down their lengths (Ludwig had reached one down as well, his other rested on Feliciano’s waist as if he wasn’t quite sure where to put it) the brunet pulled back from where he’d been mouthing along Ludwig’s throat and softly said “You ready?” He watched as Ludwig’s hand stilled and his Adam’s apple bobbed, and Feliciano cautiously waited.  
  
Ludwig finally nodded sharply and said “I think so, yes,” and all the nervousness that Feliciano thought hadn’t been there in the first place rushed into his stomach and threatened to make his arms give out, and he valiantly attempted to squish it.  
  
“Sit up a little then, please?” Feliciano reached for the lubricant on the nightstand, by some miracle his voice not shaking. The German complied, shuffling up against the headboard and still not quite meeting Feliciano’s eyes. Uncapping the lube, the Italian squeezed some out onto his fingers- wait, how much would he need? Probably a lot- and then stopped cold.  
  
 _How was he supposed to do this?_  
  
For all his considerable knowledge, Francis had not elaborated a lot upon preparation, and Feliciano knew that you sort of- stuck your fingers in your partner and wiggled them around, and that didn’t sound very comfortable at all. But Francis had also said that you  _had_  to do it or else it’d hurt a lot. So Feliciano took a very deep breath, swallowed, and said “Uh, Ludwig, I- I’m going to put my fingers in, so you have to relax, all right?”  
  
The blond inhaled deeply and nodded, inching his legs apart, and Feliciano carefully, slowly pushed a finger inside.  
  
It was weird- weird and tight and warm, and Ludwig tensed up around the finger. Feliciano did not fail to notice this, or the way his light eyebrows scrunched together and his long fingers tangled in the bedsheets, and patted him on the inside of his thigh.  
  
“Hey, shh- it’s okay, it’s all right, you’re doing great,” even though Feliciano wasn’t quite sure if that was how you calmed people down when you were doing this, but Ludwig breathed out shakily and relaxed anyway. His breathing roughened when Feliciano experimentally crooked the finger, but the Italian smiled at him and rubbed again at the inside of his thigh and said again how well he was doing, it was okay, they could stop if he wanted but he was doing so well and I’m going to put another one in, is that okay, Ludwig?  
  
Ludwig nodded.  
  
Feliciano slid the second finger in, holding as still as he possibly could until Ludwig breathed out an “okay”, and then began to move them, stretching-  
  
And Ludwig winced and hissed sharply, and Feliciano froze solid.  
  
“Ah! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, did I hurt you? I-“  
  
“N-no, it’s fine, just- be more careful please?” Feliciano nodded and returned to the stretching, slowly, until Ludwig was rocking his hips back a little, and his fingers curled up in the blankets and his eyebrows weren’t scrunched but sliding upwards. Feliciano was chewing on his bottom lip by now, but managed to say “Should I add another, or are you ready?”   
  
Ludwig licked his thin lips and stayed very red, finally saying, “I-  _ah_ \- a third couldn’t hurt,” and Feliciano obeyed, spreading them apart and wriggling them, stilling when Ludwig made discomforted noises (or noises in general, because under certain circumstances  _ow_  and  _oh_  do sound rather alike) until the German made a valiant attempt to fully meet his eyes and said, “I think, um, I think I’m ready.”

Nerves curling again in his stomach, Feliciano pulled his fingers out- too quickly, Ludwig grimaced a little and Feliciano quickly apologized- and reached for the condoms. He managed to locate one and open it with relatively little complications.  
  
“Wh- ah- sorry, it’s kind of slippery-“  
  
Ludwig reached forward and attempted to help him. “No, it’s okay- wait, are you sure this is the right way around?”  
  
“Yeah, I think I’ve got it- okay, I’ve got it.” Feliciano rolled the condom on the rest of the way, took a very deep breath, and looked straight at Ludwig. “Ludwig, are you ready?”  
  
“Y-yes. You?”  
  
“Yes.” Feliciano took another deep breath, swallowed hard, and tried to guide himself in.  
  
It was more difficult than he’d thought- if he tried to look at Ludwig’s face to check how he was doing, he couldn’t see  _what_  he was doing, and if he looked down so he wouldn’t miss, he couldn’t tell if Ludwig liked it or not, and settling for the middle ground and looking at Ludwig’s chest was a nice  _view_  but completely unhelpful- but then Ludwig laced his fingers with Feliciano’s and gave them a quick, gentle squeeze, and then Feliciano had somehow managed to push in, so he looked up at Ludwig’s face and held still until his eyes weren’t squeezed shut and his mouth wasn’t pressed into a thin line. It was difficult- Ludwig was tight and warm and felt  _so_  good, but the Italian held still, even though he shook a little from the effort.  
  
“I- mh- can I move?” Ludwig nodded and Feliciano began moving haltingly. He wasn’t a very good multitasker but he mouthed along Ludwig’s lips and jaw and throat while he thrust, and Ludwig panted and rocked his hips up and dug his nails into Feliciano’s back, which kind of hurt but it was also kind of hot.  
  
They never did establish a definite rhythm, and Feliciano did have to slow and stop whenever Ludwig winced, but he was doing that a lot less now and Feliciano thought  _oh wow I see why people do this_  and nipped at the place where Ludwig’s neck met his shoulders.  
  
Feliciano pushed himself up onto his forearms, because as much as he liked being close to Ludwig he was worried he’d headbutt the German’s chin if he stayed like he had been, and pushed further into Ludwig and- oh God he was close-  
  
And he must have gotten something right, the angle, the speed, something, because Ludwig let out a moan (which was rare enough as it was), and in it Feliciano caught “God” and “there” and Ludwig made this face and  _tightened_ -  
  
And Feliciano came, far sooner than he wanted to, and let his head drop and his fingers curl in the bedsheets and his hips keep moving shallowly. His arms gave out soon after- Feliciano’s upper body strength wasn’t great at the best of times, and especially not now- and he spent a second collapsed on Ludwig’s chest, panting.  
  
After a moment, the Italian lifted his head up and mumbled, “Should I- ah-” and Ludwig whispered “please” and his eyes slid shut while Feliciano slid his hands down Ludwig’s sides and between his legs.   
  
They kissed again, slow and warm and wet, and Ludwig came with a buck into Feliciano’s hand and a groan of “ah, God” into his mouth.  
  
Feliciano was tired, and his hands were messy and sticky as he rolled off the condom. Probably he should wash them, he reflected, but that would require standing up, and  _that_  wasn’t happening anytime soon. So instead he flopped onto Ludwig’s chest, drawing an “oof” from them both, and nuzzled into Ludwig’s collarbone.

"Did you like it?" he asked eventually, voice hoarse.  
  
“You were wonderful, Feli.” Ludwig’s voice rumbled in his chest, the way it always did when he was sleepy, and one of his hands had settled in Feliciano’s damp, curly hair. The Italian yawned a little.  
  
“‘S good.” He yawned again. “Um…”  
  
“Yes?” Ludwig cracked an eye open.  
  
“Do you want to do it again? Well, not now, but, um, soon?” The one blue eye darted away, but Ludwig said “Yes, I do” anyway and took a deep breath.  
  
Feliciano “mm”ed and trailed his fingers along Ludwig’s opposite shoulder. They lay in silence for a little while longer.  
  
“Ah, Feli?” The Italian “mm”ed again in response. “I think we should take a shower.” Feliciano grumbled halfheartedly into Ludwig’s neck, but let Ludwig pull him upright anyway.  
  
Through a concerted group effort, the pair managed to haul themselves into the shower and rinse off before falling back into bed. Feliciano shot under the covers- it was cold, and the shower just made it colder, but Ludwig tugged the blankets up to their necks and draped an arm over him. Wriggling up Ludwig’s front, Feliciano gave him a long kiss, wrapping his legs around Ludwig’s and resting his hands on Ludwig’s shoulders.  
  
He had to break the kiss to yawn again, and let his head flop down on the pillows. Ludwig seemed about as tired as Feliciano felt, but it was kind of hard to tell from this distance since he kept going cross-eyed. So instead he wriggled as close to Ludwig as possible and listened to his chest rumble as he mumbled “Love you” into the top of Feliciano’s head.  
  
“Mn. Love you too.” As Feliciano drifted off, he thought he heard a quiet, deep-voiced “Thank you,” but he was asleep too quickly to respond.   
  
In the morning, Ludwig froze in the middle of breakfast and said “Oh  _no_ , Gilbert’s going to disown us,” and Feliciano laughed and poured him some more coffee.


	2. The New Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after quite probably one of the best nights of Ludwig's life, and it might just become normal.

Ludwig blinks awake, feeling oddly calm and happy for someone who just woke up, and does not have to wonder why for very long. Feliciano lies sprawled across him, which is normal, and he’s naked, which is normal, but so is Ludwig and that is not normal at all, and besides he remembers last night quite well and he’s heard that…  _those_  sorts of activities induce calmness afterwards, anyway. The sudden heart palpitations could probably also be passed off as a normal post-coital occurrence, or so Ludwig hopes (even though they tend to happen without doing  _that_  anyway, around Feliciano).

And then Feliciano lifts his head and opens his lovely brown eyes and stares muzzily at Ludwig, whose heart drops precipitously- what if he hadn’t liked it? What if he’d just been going along with it, what if he’d lost his respect for Ludwig, oh God what if he didn’t love Ludwig anymore- and Ludwig knows those are silly, irrational things to be thinking, but for that split second he’s the most terrified he’s ever been.

But then, Feliciano’s face splits in a grin, and he pulls himself up and kisses Ludwig on the nose, and then on the mouth, and he’s still smiling when he pulls away and Ludwig’s hands have found their way into Feliciano’s curly hair, how had that happened? Feliciano seems to be nearly purring at this, and nestles his head into the crook of Ludwig’s shoulder, all sleep-warm skin and soft eyes and a little stubble. He yawns.

“Good morning, Ludwig,” he hums eventually into the German’s neck. Ludwig can feel his smile, smiling is a full-body act with Feliciano, like everything else.

Ludwig “Good morning”s back and stares up at the ceiling. He knows, in the back of his mind, that he needs to get out of bed at some point, but somehow with Feliciano there it seems less important. The man in question idly traces random patterns across Ludwig’s shoulder and down his chest, and then pipes up again in his soft early-morning-no-coffee voice.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Very.” Ludwig means it, too, after- after, when his heart had slowed enough for him to sleep, that had been probably the best rest he’d had in a month. “Did you?”

“Mm. Yes.” Feliciano looks up at Ludwig’s face, cheeks beginning to pink. “Uh, and… last night, did you- did you like it?”

Feeling the beginnings of a blush on his face, Ludwig glances away, but says, “I, uh. Yes.” He pauses. “A- a lot, actually.”

“Really?” It hurts a little, hearing Feliciano so surprised, but then Ludwig had been having the same sorts of worries not too long ago.

Speaking of. “Y-yes, really. Did you enjoy last night?” Feliciano actually does start blushing, but nods enthusiastically all the same before laying his head back down on Ludwig’s shoulder. Ludwig nuzzles a kiss into his brown hair, not entirely caring how much affection he was showing and caring probably too much about how much he did or didn’t care.

Feliciano continues. “Because, see, I was kind of worried, and I know I shouldn’t be but Lovino says these sorts of things all the time and so do some of the regioni and I know you tell me not to worry about these things so much but I…” His voice trails off and becomes quieter, and Ludwig rests a hand on his back as comfortingly as he knows how. “I thought you might not want me anymore.” Feliciano is nearly inaudible, and speaking fast, and his tan shoulders are hunched and he avoids Ludwig’s gaze.

Ludwig doesn’t really know what to do, so he pulls the green comforter up higher around them and looks Feliciano in the eye. “I  _wouldn’t_  leave you, especially like that,” he says, and means it more than anything. “I wouldn’t- Feliciano, I promised. Remember?”

Feliciano says “Yes, but-“

“But nothing. I promised.” Ludwig is quite definitely blushing by now, but he soldiers on regardless. “Feliciano, I pinky swore. You said yourself, no backing out of that, and I couldn’t if I wanted to. Which I don’t. So.” This speech had trailed off near the end, and Ludwig clears his throat once or twice, feeling a little foolish.

Feliciano smiles again, and holds his hand in front of him. “Swear again?”

Ludwig feels even more foolish, but links his pinky with Feliciano’s anyway. He takes a breath and tries to look as serious as possible. “Feliciano Vargas. I am not going to leave you until you want me to.”

“And I’m not leaving unless you want me to either,” Feliciano nearly chirps. “There! Like I told you, no backing out!” He leans up and kisses Ludwig, soft and thorough and smelling of rich earth and green things, and settles himself full on Ludwig’s chest, face inches from Ludwig’s own. “So,” he breathes, “what’re we going to do today?”

Ludwig shrugs a little. “I don’t have to be anywhere until after noon.”

“Neither do I.” Feliciano’s grin widens, and it’s infectious. “Good. That’s good! We can stay here!” And he kisses Ludwig again through their smiles, and doesn’t pull away for a very long time, and begins to chuckle faintly against Ludwig’s lips.

Feliciano continues laughing as he rolls the couple over, and through the general flailing as they struggle to extricate themselves from the clutches of the comforter. Eventually they manage this, and Ludwig leans down to kiss Feliciano again, and Feliciano rubs himself against Ludwig, and both of them run their hands along each other’s body again and again and shake because this closeness is so, so new and a little terrifying and completely euphoric.

While Ludwig prepares him, a little clumsily, Feliciano is still laughing- quiet and interrupted by moans, but there- and he twitches his hips forwards and twists the sheets in his fingers when Ludwig slides in a third finger. He’s pliable- this is something Ludwig noticed last night, too, Feliciano doesn’t tense and freeze, he trusts that he won’t be hurt, and this makes something warm and shaky build inside of Ludwig’s chest. By the time Feliciano reaches up to help Ludwig get the condom on, his laughter has subsided to small chuckles, and even though Ludwig isn’t laughing himself he understands Feliciano’s laughing completely because the sheer exhilaration of Feliciano wrapping his legs around Ludwig’s waist and his arms around Ludwig’s shoulders as Ludwig pushes in is like nothing else he’s ever felt.

Feliciano’s eyes are wide as Ludwig begins to move, wide and brown and clear and crinkling at the corners because he’s smiling hugely in that full-body way only he has, and Ludwig feels an answering smile tug at his lips. With some hasty readjustment of Feliciano’s legs, they manage to get close enough to kiss, Ludwig propped up on his forearms and Feliciano grasping his hands. Neither of them break the kiss, they breathe each other in and Feliciano tangles his fingers with Ludwig’s and opens up beneath him, rolling his hips up and forwards and letting out soft moans.

When Ludwig reaches down with one hand and takes hold of Feliciano and begins stroking him gently, the groan and the back-arching from Feliciano are worth far, far more than the fact that Ludwig’s going to come soon.

And Feliciano’s gasps and cries take on a more urgent quality, and Ludwig could swear he hears “there” and “love you” among the breathless Italian spilling from Feliciano’s lips, and he responds in kind in German even he can’t comprehend but Feliciano gets the message and tightens  _so_ wonderfully and  _oh_ -

Ludwig comes with  _schön, schön_  on his lips and a vague feeling that his heart is going to explode.

After he pulls out, he continues to stroke Feliciano, who pants into his mouth and shortly comes all over his hand. Feliciano flops back against the pillows and lets Ludwig get rid of the condom and wipe the both of them off, and then pulls him back to lie down. He does all this with a wide, white-toothed smile and closed eyes, and his hair is even more of a mess than when they woke up, and every move he makes is lazy and slow as he curls up on top of Ludwig again, stubble scratching on Ludwig’s chest, and Ludwig lets him and feels strangely warm and full and generally like he could lie here forever and ignore his jobs and duties and only pay attention to the small, pleased sounds Feliciano produces.

The Italian stretches out languidly and says, “You liked that too, right?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“Ah, good,” and Feliciano pushes a lock or two of hair out of Ludwig’s eyes and runs fingers over his cheek and across his stubbly chin, and smiles fondly, and the warm full feeling in Ludwig’s chest expands tenfold, and even though it’s odd for him to fall back asleep at this hour and it’s definitely unscheduled, Feliciano is already drifting off and Ludwig sees little harm in following.

He manages to pull the blankets back up around them, and mumbles  _liebe dich sehr_  very quietly- Feliciano seems to hear anyhow, and slurs out  _ti amo così tanto_ \- and then he slips asleep, at 9:34 AM covered in blankets and warm Italian.

They eventually do get out of bed and make breakfast, which is normal, and listen to the radio, which is normal, and Feliciano calls Ludwig  _tesoro_  once or twice, which isn’t normal and makes Ludwig’s heart stutter a little, but he thinks that this becoming normal wouldn’t be bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: schön: beautiful  
> liebe dich sehr: love you a lot  
> ti amo così tanto: I love you so much  
> tesoro: (pet name) treasure


	3. Sightless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italy tops a blindfolded Germany. Not much else to say, really.

Feliciano smiles softly, even though Ludwig can’t see him, and pulls back enough to really look at him. He’s really proud of Ludwig for this- it took such a long time to get him to admit he likes this sort of thing (it was a very interesting conversation- after a long, stumbling explanation Feliciano had said  _oh, you want to tie me up?_  and Ludwig had looked at the floor and blushed even harder and said  _uh, actually, I-I’d like you to- to tie me up_  and Feliciano had said  _okay, so what are we doing for dinner_ )- but he’s getting off task now and Ludwig scolds him when he does that. Except not now, because right now Feliciano is the boss and Ludwig is not allowed to yell at him unless it goes bad and he really doesn’t like it.

Speaking of. “Ludwig, you remember the safeword, right?” He’s already checked once, but there’s no harm in doing it again.

Ludwig nods and shifts a little. He’s kneeling in front of Feliciano on the bed with his hands cuffed behind his back (which is another reason Feliciano’s proud- wrists are difficult for Ludwig) and- and this is new- a dark blindfold over his eyes. And also he’s starting to blush and look nervous and that won’t do at all so Feliciano shuffles a little closer and kisses him, brings a hand up to cradle his jaw.

Feliciano drags his hand along Ludwig’s jawline and down across his neck to wander over his chest. He loves doing this, touching Ludwig at his own leisure, feeling the muscles that he kind of wants for himself but then remembers how much work it is and he could spend his time doing something better. Like this.

He reluctantly breaks the kiss, letting his other hand join the one already on Ludwig, and they flit over him in light touches, never staying in one place too long. Ludwig is leaning into Feliciano’s hands and letting out quiet sighs, and the strokes turn into scratches, stinging but not enough to really hurt. Every time Feliciano’s nails dig into Ludwig’s skin, his eyebrows slide upward above he blindfold, and then they arch and he lets out a low moan when Feliciano reaches down and wraps his hand around Ludwig, who is mostly hard. He strokes once, twice and his left hand travels down to tickle along the inside of Ludwig’s thigh and make him squirm a little.

Allowing his other hand to continue its slow slide, Feliciano traces his other hand up across Ludwig’s thigh (his legs are parted a little, and he’s trembling just a bit) and the side of his hip, and along his side and his shoulder (they’re rounded and a bit hunched, since Ludwig’s curled forward). Bringing his hand to a halt in Ludwig’s blond hair, Feliciano tangles the locks in his fingers and pulls Ludwig up into another kiss, a little rougher than normal. Ludwig parts his lips and it’s sweet even though Feliciano bites down on Ludwig’s lower lip hard enough to make him groan.

All the while, Feliciano’s been scooting slowly towards Ludwig, and now he’s close enough that if he splays his working hand out he can get ahold of them both and oh that’s good if he does say so himself. The brunet moans into Ludwig’s mouth, moves his hand faster, and then has a _brilliant_  idea.

He scooches back on the bed and opens his legs, pushes on the back of Ludwig’s head- his eyebrows furrow, but then Feliciano can see him catch on. Ludwig smiles a bit and lets Feliciano tug him forward and down and- whoops.

Next time Feliciano should remember that Ludwig can’t see and Feliciano can’t aim very well so that he doesn’t accidentally miss and poke Ludwig in the face.

“Uh, let’s try this again, Ludwig…”

This time, with a little effort, they get it right and Ludwig opens his slightly damp lips and takes Feliciano into his mouth and oh- oh God it’s good, it’s good and Ludwig’s good and Feliciano tells him so, over and over again.

Ludwig answers him with a quiet moan and flushed, hollowed cheeks, and Feliciano runs his fingers along those cheeks and his strong, fine cheekbones right where they meet the blindfold (he can imagine Ludwig’s eyes beneath it, closed, and his pale gold eyelashes) and then down his neck, back up around his (frankly adorable) ears, and into his hair, which is coming ungelled. He does not pull, does not force Ludwig’s head further down, just gives gentle nudges and strokes his hair and face and moans when Ludwig does something with his tongue that’s probably illegal.

And Ludwig’s mouth is so good, so wet and warm and wonderful (and so is Ludwig- well, he’s not _wet_ , that would be weird, but warm, yes, and oh is he wonderful) and he’s amazing like this, so peaceful, and Feliciano is so, so close.

But he doesn’t want to come right now, not yet, so he draws Ludwig’s head back upwards, fingertips right behind his jaw. Ludwig’s mouth is still open a bit, and shining, and his lips are swollen, and he raises his eyebrows. Feliciano cradles Ludwig’s face in his hands and half-whispers “I’m going to get you ready, all right?”

Then he reaches for the key to the cuffs and unlocks them- Ludwig makes a small noise that could almost be protesting- and then rejoins his hands in front of him, because if Ludwig had lain down with his hands behind his back it wouldn’t have been comfortable and then the whole thing wouldn’t have been any fun. Hands on Ludwig’s pale shoulders (not so pale anymore, his flush is spreading), Feliciano guides and lowers him to lie on his back. Ludwig allows this, fingers curled in front of him and eyebrows relaxed (Feliciano imagines his eyes, half-lidded and so calm). Leaving one hand on Ludwig’s shoulder, Feliciano scrabbles for the lube that he’s  _sure_  he left on the nightstand and manages to find it, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers.

Feliciano lifts one of Ludwig’s legs onto his shoulder and plays his fingers down the back of his thigh before slowly, slowly sliding one inside.

The groan Ludwig lets out runs through Feliciano’s head and down to curl in his toes, and his bound hands seek out the one Feliciano’s not using and clasp it while Feliciano bends and crooks his finger. Ludwig gasps and his hips jerk and his eyebrows jump when Feliciano slides the next two fingers in at the same time, actually breathing “good” out between his slightly bitten lips, and Feliciano imagines his blue eyes shooting wide open.

Feliciano whispers “I know” back and spreads his fingers apart, then pulls them back together and moves them as one until he finds that spot that makes Ludwig press his hips up and cling to Feliciano’s free hand and drop his mouth open to let out soft, desperate noises. The brunet presses against that spot a few more times to see Ludwig gasp and feel the tremors run through him.

He gently, slowly pulls his fingers out- Ludwig half-whimpers, which is not a sound Feliciano gets to hear often, and it’s lovely- and then grabs for a condom. Still one-handed, he manages to get it on through no small amount of clever handiwork, and then props Ludwig’s other leg on his other shoulder.

“Ready?”

Ludwig squeezes his hand, and Feliciano guides himself in. He holds still until the white-knuckle grip relaxes, rubbing at Ludwig’s hip. When Ludwig lets go of his hand, Feliciano brings it to his sturdy, shaking hips and digs his fingertips in as he begins to thrust, as slowly as possible, and Ludwig sighs and moans wordlessly and moves in tandem with him.

And then he reaches his hands up, groping for Feliciano’s face and when he finds it he cradles it in his large hands and touches the edge of Feliciano’s open, smiling mouth and then he smiles too, that small, real smile that Feliciano hopes for every day, and Feliciano smiles back even though Ludwig can’t see it and fulfills the unspoken, understood request for more and deeper. It’s amazing, really, how he can draw smiles and gasps from Ludwig, how Ludwig can trust him with his own sight, his own body at its most vulnerable, and the knowledge that he does makes Feliciano smile wider and murmur- well, nothing in particular, but it sounds like the things he thinks when he sees Ludwig asleep with his glasses on or cooking, when he’s calm and relaxed and happy with Feliciano, it sounds like that.

It’s still okay that Ludwig drops his hands, though, because the position was beginning to do weird things to Feliciano’s spine. He gently presses Ludwig’s hands down to a point just above his head, and Ludwig obeys the unspoken order to keep them there.

One particularly hard thrust sends Ludwig shuddering, and Feliciano tries to recreate it over and over and spares a hand to drag from Ludwig’s hip (the other remains, gripping almost hard enough to bruise) down between his legs and it isn’t long before he’s moaning and arching his strong back and coming, and his fingers curl and he tightens almost unbearably, and Feliciano can almost see the way his eyes widen and roll back and close.

Delivering a few final, haphazard thrusts, Feliciano follows Ludwig with a small cry and a bend forward. He pants, and lifts up his head after a few seconds and lowers first one, then the other of Ludwig’s legs back onto the bed. Next to go are the handcuffs, Feliciano slowly unlocks them and rubs the life and circulation back into Ludwig’s palms. And finally, he unties the black blindfold, careful not to pull Ludwig’s hair, and sets it aside and watches the lovely blue eyes blink open and then peacefully close, and then rolls off the condom and fits himself to Ludwig’s body and holds him and just waits.

Eventually Ludwig’s heartbeat has slowed to normal and he’s breathing deeply, and he lifts his arms up to wrap around Feliciano. The brunet lifts his head again and rests a hand on Ludwig’s still-flushed cheek.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” Ludwig’s words are a little slurred, but normal. Feliciano pushes his slightly sweaty curly hair out of his eyes and settles more onto Ludwig, murmuring “good, that’s good.”

“Ludwig?”

“Mm?”

“Would- ah, do you want to do it with the blindfold again?”

Ludwig looks away and blushes just a little, and says “Yes.”

“Mm. So do I.” And Feliciano knows they should get up, they should do the chores that need doing, but it can’t hurt to lie here with his lips against Ludwig’s neck and their arms around each other and hold Ludwig’s sight for a little while longer.


	4. Chapter 4

"Well, see, it’s because sometimes you look kind of nervous when we make love, and I thought maybe if we do it like this you’ll have a little more control so you’ll be less nervous, so what do you think?" Feliciano grins up at Ludwig expectantly- it makes sense, because he does get nervous, Feliciano knows, and it’s never as fun when he’s nervous, so maybe if he  tried it like this he’d feel better and besides Feliciano did this for Ludwig a week ago so it’s really only fair anyway.   
  
"I…" Ludwig ducks his head a little, the way he always does when they talk about things like this. "Ah— okay."   
  
Feliciano wiggles excitedly and grabs Ludwig’s hands, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Great!” he chirps, and means it. “How about tonight?”  
  
Ludwig nods, and his ears have turned pink, and Feliciano slides off the couch and says “Help me with dinner?”  
  
He does. 

* * *

  
After dinner is over, and the cleanup is done, and their work is… well, not done, to be honest, but this is way better, Feliciano tries his absolute best to kiss some of that nervous reticence out of Ludwig. It’s working- Ludwig returns his kisses quietly, hands resting solid and warm on Feliciano’s bare waist, and Feliciano’s own ruffling through his light hair until some of it hangs messy over his forehead. He tugs Ludwig a little closer until they’re flush against each other and leans up into his broad chest and tugs just a little more, and Ludwig settles a bit awkwardly into Feliciano’s lap.   
  
Feliciano huffs out a short breath- Ludwig’s kind of heavy- and runs his fingers from Ludwig’s hair down across his shoulders and sides to rest on his hips, and then Ludwig squeaks, actually  _squeaks_ when Feliciano sneaks his hands back a little onto Ludwig’s butt and squeezes. He chuckles into Ludwig’s mouth and pulls back enough to catch Ludwig’s ears turning pink and, when he sees the almost-smile on his lips and the way his eyes flick to Feliciano’s face and back away, Feliciano cranes up for another kiss and pulls Ludwig closer, lets his fingertips slide further down- just a little-  
  
-Ludwig gives a surprised gasp and his hands tense at Feliciano’s sides, and though Feliciano is loath to stop touching even for a second, they kind of really need lube to continue this. He grabs for it on the nightstand and squeezes a goodly amount onto his fingers.   
  
"Okay?" He half-whispers, and Ludwig nods with very little hesitation at all, and Feliciano presses a finger inside.  
  
It’s warm, so warm, and tight and Ludwig tenses up until Feliciano rubs at the small of his back with his other hand and murmurs comforting noises. Ludwig’s hands are braced on Feliciano’s shoulders and he leans forward against Feliciano’s chest and pants in his ear and then his mouth when Feliciano’s free hand takes Ludwig by the chin and guides their mouths together, and Feliciano slides his finger deeper until he wins a trembling “ _ah_!” and a twitch of the hips, and Ludwig’s legs slide a little further apart. Pulling away from the kiss, Feliciano watches Ludwig’s blue eyes widen and close as he pushes a second and a third finger in, watches the arch of his pale back and the shaking of his strong legs, watches the flush of arousal and embarrassment make its way down his neck and towards his shoulders, and he thinks  _I am probably the luckiest person ever ever ever in the whole world_  because there is nobody else who can draw that self-conscious baritone “ _ohh_ " from Ludwig’s throat, nobody at all.   
  
"Ready?"  
  
"Yes." Ludwig’s eyes dart away from Feliciano’s face, but there’s that almost-smile again, and less of the shaky nervousness that shows up sometimes when Feliciano’s on top (and when he’s not), and it’s good, it’s so, so good that Ludwig’s beginning to trust him more like this, that he can relax enough to let another person touch him, and Feliciano can’t wipe a silly grin off his face as he slides down the bed, as Ludwig haltingly takes the condom from Feliciano before he can put it on and rolls it on for him, as Feliciano guides Ludwig down, telling him to go just as slowly as he wants to, that’s it, you’re doing great. 

 _Definitely_ _the luckiest_ , Feliciano thinks when Ludwig’s settling on top of him, so warm and tight and lovely and biting his lip a little, and Feliciano pulls him close and kisses the teeth away and strokes his shoulders and back and thighs, letting Ludwig get ready in his own time. And finally he is ready, and he begins moving, eyes wide and mouth open and forearms on either side of Feliciano’s shoulders and legs folded on either side of Feliciano’s pelvis, and Feliciano wants to say  _you’re beautiful_  and he wants to say  _I love you_ , but his words fall away beneath the clumsy rolling of Ludwig’s hips and the clutch of his hands in Feliciano’s hair and he just moans instead. Grabbing for Ludwig’s waist, Feliciano tries to slow down and even out their movements, and when he does, Ludwig lets out a small noise that sounds like a moan trying to hide and Feliciano smiles up at him. 

"You can—  _nnh_ — make noise, it’s okay,” he says breathlessly, because Ludwig does need to know that it’s not something he has to be embarrassed about and besides he’s heard Ludwig really moan a few times before and oh God if that wasn’t the hottest thing in the universe then Feliciano would only ever eat Arthur’s scones for the rest of his life, and he rocks his hips up again and trails his hands from Ludwig’s waist down across the jut and dip of his hipbones and further-  
  
-“ _Ohh!_ ”-  
  
-and Feliciano doesn’t know if it’s the sound or the way Ludwig’s thin, bitten lips shape around it or the blazing red of his cheeks or the curve in his spine or the sudden tightening or everything at once, but whatever it is runs up and down his spine and makes his toes curl and his head a little light.  He hauls Ludwig down into a nearly-bruising kiss by one hand on the back of his neck, and lets the other hand keep doing what it’s doing, and drinks in the sight and sound and feel of Ludwig, strong beautiful smart amazing Ludwig, hot around his waist and in his palm and against his lips and letting out hesitant, trembling gasps, and he can feel Ludwig’s pulse in his neck and how fast his heart is going, and Feliciano arches up a little.   
  
Ludwig’s noises become more insistent, and if Feliciano listens just right he can hear  _ah Gott, Feli, oh mein Gott_  and if he thrusts up again and twists his wrist just  _so_  then probably-  
  
Ludwig comes, shaking hands still in Feliciano’s hair, open mouth and closed eyes and tensed legs and  _ohgodFeli_ , and Feliciano sighs gladly and follows him. He slips out of Ludwig, who slides off him and to the side, and manages to lift his heavy arms enough to take off the condom. Ludwig has rolled onto his back, blond hair disheveled, and he slowly reaches out an arm and rubs at Feliciano’s cheek with his long, strong fingers. Pushing into the touch, Feliciano scoots as close as he can and lies on his side next to Ludwig, rubbing small circles into his hipbones. He yawns.   
  
"Did you like that?"  
  
Ludwig, still gently flushed, nods.   
  
"Good. Did you feel less nervous?"  
  
Ludwig pauses before answering. “I… yes.”  
  
"That’s good!" Feliciano squeaks. "Uh- which parts made you feel less nervous? So I can do them again?"  
  
"Um. I think— I think the position helped some, and the- the waiting for me to get used to things, and, uh." The next part comes out mumbled and in a rush. "You kind of m-make me feel safer anyway."  
  
There’s something warm and soft growing in Feliciano’s chest and curling in the back of his throat, and he smiles so widely his cheeks hurt and pets through Ludwig’s hair, propped up on one elbow. “Really?”  
  
"Y-yes." Ludwig coughs a little and shifts. "Do you think we should wash off?"  
  
"Ew, getting up," grumbles Feliciano, but they both get out of bed anyway and stumble into the shower, where Ludwig lets Feliciano wash his hair, and then dry off and fall back into bed, Ludwig’s head on Feliciano’s chest and their legs tangled and knotted together. 

Feliciano absently toes at the back of Ludwig’s upper calf and pets his hair again, and Ludwig might still be blushing a little but he’s so calm right now, and he feels Ludwig’s small smile and sighs again. If he cranes his neck, he can see down the gentle swoop of Ludwig’s spine and the small dimples on either side of it at the small of his back, and he pulls the sheets and the comforter over their bodies and digs the heel of his hand into Ludwig’s back between his shoulderblades, eliciting a shudder and a pleased breath.   
  
Ludwig opens his eyes and meets Feliciano’s, and says “Thank you” quietly.   
  
"Thank  _you_ ,” and Feliciano cuddles as close as possible and whispers “I love you, Ludwig” into the top of Ludwig’s head.   
  
A hand makes its way to the side of Feliciano’s stomach, warm and solid, and Ludwig rests his head right over Feliciano’s heart and keeps their bodies intertwined and whispers back “I love you, Feli,” and that’s the last thing Feliciano hears before he drifts to sleep, both of them warm and safe and content.


	5. Humidity

The humidity isn’t what wakes Ludwig, but it makes it lots easier, seeping into every corner of the old, old house in Venice and pressing heavy on Ludwig and Feliciano in their bed, making them stick together in sleep. What does wake Ludwig is Feliciano tapping him on the shoulder.

“Feli, it’s…” Ludwig turns just enough to check the alarm clock on the bedside table. “…Five in the morning.”

“I know,” Feliciano mumbles, voice low and quiet.

“Wha’re you—” Feliciano cuts off Ludwig’s question and quite a few of his thoughts by rolling on top of him, muttering in nonsense Italian against his throat. He wriggles a little before settling down, breath blowing too warm across Ludwig’s Adam’s apple, and then smiles to himself and wriggles a little more and he knows  _exactly_  what he’s doing there is no way he doesn’t why now it’s too early-

Ludwig tries again. “Feli. What are you doing.”

Feliciano lifts his head up, scratch of stubble along the side of Ludwig’s neck, and says “Go with it?” in that same voice that Ludwig will never ever admit is waking up certain… areas of himself that were already awake from the whole Feliciano-rolling-on-him- _why in hell did I let him sleep naked_ thing. And then he shifts up a little more (oh goddammit) and kisses Ludwig hard, oddly so for Feliciano at five AM and why the hell did Ludwig just think hard- oh God  _damn_  it.

Fine.

He kisses back, far too warm too early in the morning, and Feliciano’s hands are on his stomach and lower, tugging down his boxers and-

Thoughts stop for a little while, and when they start back up, somehow Ludwig’s hands have made their way down to Feliciano’s backside-  _how did that happen?_ \- but then he just stops questioning because Feliciano’s tongue is great at making Ludwig’s thoughts freeze in their tracks and derail. And that is nothing,  _nothing_  compared to what the first small jerk of Feliciano’s hips does to his thoughts, and if he’s going to go with the train comparison this would be vaguely analogous to a train spontaneously not only being derailed, but being dragged through the city to another set of tracks going the exact opposite direction and then Feliciano does it  _again_  and Ludwig should really stop thinking about trains right now because distracting himself is not going to work, he knows very very well how incredibly insistent Feliciano gets in matters like this.

Speaking of. Ludwig’s really not entirely sure what to do with this. Well. He gets the concept, but- how? Is there something specific he’s supposed to do, a particular way he’s supposed to move his hips, anything very important that he’s missing?  _Is there a manual for this?_ Maybe it’s the tiredness speaking, but he really isn’t sure where he’s supposed to go with this, with Feliciano on top of him making very insistent motions with his hips-

Feliciano pulls back from the kiss and smiles at Ludwig in that sort of dopey way that seems incredibly out of sync with what he’s just been doing, eyes half-lidded, and says “Good start” in what would be a bright voice if he were properly awake. “Uh, hang on just a moment—”

And then Feliciano rolls them over, a tangle of limbs and surprise, and goes “oof!” when Ludwig can’t quite catch himself in time and lands heavily on Feliciano’s ribcage.

“Sorry.”

“‘S okay.” Feliciano smiles at him again, this time a little smaller and a lot more knowing. “Also it’s your turn now.”

Ludwig is halfway through trying to roll them over again when Feliciano stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “No no no not that. I meant this,” and then he does that  _thing_  with his hips again and Feliciano wants him to do that? But before he can properly think through everything that would entail, there are hands on his backside trying to pull him forward and Ludwig catches on very quickly and experimentally shifts forward.

“ _O_ kay that’s good.” Feliciano smiles at him and wriggles again, licking his lips a little  _oh God_. Again he twists himself upward a little, hands on Ludwig’s shoulders and eyes heavy-lidded. “Again?”

Ludwig acquiesces so quickly it would almost be embarrassing, were it not 5 AM and were Feliciano not thrusting up faintly but definitely, and it is still far too early for this and Ludwig’s head still feels a little like it’s been lined with cotton wool and Feliciano’s voice is still low and quiet and tired with the little earthy tone it gains in these situations, and Ludwig just gives in.

Feliciano’s hands are still on Ludwig’s shoulders, and he keeps their pace steady, or something like it, and begins murmuring instructions into Ludwig’s neck between gasps and nips,  _more_ s and  _like that_ s and Ludwig obeys to the best of his ability.

It’s so, so warm inside the room, and getting warmer, and the sheets twist around their waists as they continue moving, slick against each other and Ludwig’s hair falling messy into his eyes and Feliciano’s spread out dark across the pillows and both flushed and sweating. Feliciano suddenly shudders, eyelids fluttering (oh God, his eyelashes should be illegal) and breathes out “God, yes, like  _that_ ,” and it’s nearly all Ludwig can do not to come then and there.

He keeps talking after that, breathily,  _harder_ s and  _slower_ s and what could possibly be a few  _fuck me_ s thrown in all together, mixed with fast Italian that Ludwig can’t catch, but  _ti amo_  seems to be in there a lot. One of his hands comes up to hold in Ludwig’s hair, the other straying down his back, and Feliciano runs his lips all over every inch of Ludwig he can reach- he does that a lot, Ludwig thinks (insofar as he can right now), and it’s just a bit odd, since he’s pretty sure his collarbones don’t taste that good.

And it all shifts together into gasps of warm, still air and shuddering “mn-oh”s and Ludwig not even really realizing he’s bitten Feliciano’s neck until he tastes the sweat-salty skin and feels how Feliciano’s arms come up to wrap around his back and how he scratches at Ludwig’s shoulder blades, and the stick and slide of their skin and Feliciano mumbling dirty-sweet things into Ludwig’s shoulder and tossing his head back against the pillows, dark-bright eyes seeming to cut right through the haze in Ludwig’s head as he arches up, and then it all just becomes this tangle of limbs and poorly-timed thrusts and poorly-aimed kisses and Ludwig just decides to stop even trying to keep track.

Feliciano kisses him, messily, curly hair sticking to his forehead, and he’s a good kisser, a _really_ good kisser (where did he learn that, anyway), and the heat that’s been building beneath Ludwig’s abdomen gives and spills out into the hot, thick air of the bedroom, and through all this he can still see Feliciano’s small, white smile.

Gasping for breath, Feliciano comes as well, sticky on their stomachs, and relaxes boneless on the bed. He blinks slowly up at Ludwig, still smiling, and wraps his arms around him, pulling them down to rest side by side.

“That was good,” he yawns, sounding completely exhausted. “You like it?”

Ludwig opens his mouth, closes it, and nods, curling against Feliciano, both damp and sticky and in need of cleaning but neither willing nor able to get out of their bed. He really can’t think of what to say, the cotton-wool feeling in his head has intensified and coupled with a spreading warmth in his chest and his limbs feel too heavy to move.

Feliciano presses a kiss to his nose, and another to his mouth, mumbling something about  _ti ho amato fin dal decimo secolo_ , and there’s something Ludwig wants to say in response but it founders beneath the warm air and Feliciano’s warm skin.

Instead, he pulls Feliciano closer and closes his eyes, vowing that in just a few minutes he’ll get up and wipe them off and open a window, but what happens is Feliciano kisses him again and trails his fingers through Ludwig’s hair and knots their legs, and he hears and returns the silent  _I love you_ , and sleeps.

(They wake up at eight and Ludwig immediately shepherds them both into the bath and opens up a window when they’re done, but he glances up halfway through breakfast and says  _seit dem zehnten Jahrhundert?_  and Feliciano nearly lunges across the small table to kiss him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ti ho amato fin dal decimo secolo: i’ve loved you since the tenth century; seit dem zehnten Jahrhundert: since the tenth century (i hope, this was mostly google translate with aiding french knowledge)


	6. an exercise in trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains light bondage.

The thing that really astonishes Ludwig about this is how  _calm_  Feliciano is. He knows from experience that if he were in Feliciano’s place, he would be struggling to accustom himself to this feeling, this dependence on another, this- this blind reliance (quite literally, Feliciano has a blindfold on, black over his wide, dark eyes), but Feliciano is calm and smiling, moving with Ludwig as much as the ropes will allow and leaning into his hands.

It’s odd, and Ludwig thinks it must be odd for Feliciano too, not having his legs wrapped about Ludwig’s waist or his hands constantly wandering, just touching, but odd doesn’t mean bad, not at all, and  _oh_  this isn’t bad at all, Feliciano warm and pliable and sighing in pleasure.

Ludwig moves his hands up from where they’ve been keeping a white-knuckled grip on Feliciano’s hips, up his torso until he hits the spot right under Feliciano’s ribs that he knows tickles. Feliciano squirms in response, laughing breathlessly and almost noiselessly (he’s quiet these times as well, another strange thing), and his smile grows open-mouthed, displaying white teeth. Moving his hands to Feliciano’s sides, he pulls Feliciano closer and up, straining the cords-

-Feliciano’s eyebrows knit together, and he hisses out a breath and gasps “Yellow,” and Ludwig freezes in his tracks.

"What’s wrong?"

"Put me down a little?" Ludwig obeys immediately. "It’s— it’s a little uncomfortable like that."

Ludwig carefully lets Feliciano settle back- “Better?” “Yeah-” -into his original position, spreadeagled on the bed, and holds still until Feliciano nods and curls his fingers around the cords that tie his wrists to the head of the bed and says, “Okay, green.” Moving again slowly, almost cautiously- it is so, so important that he be cautious, that he earn the trust Feliciano has placed in him- Ludwig bends low over Feliciano and slides his hands along Feliciano’s arms until their fingers are intertwined and his nose keeps bumping Feliciano in the jaw and Feliciano meets and returns every one of his thrusts. Feliciano turns his head towards Ludwig, seeking out his lips and eventually finding them after a few misfires, and he hums and sighs into Ludwig’s mouth and his bound legs tremble and these things settle warm all through his head and stomach until he feels a little dazed.

Feliciano trusts him with this- that’s the thought that keeps running through his head, even more than  _warm tight oh God like that_ , that Feliciano trusts him enough to let himself be blinded and tied down like this, that he’s not afraid, that he believes Ludwig won’t hurt him and always has and isn’t that so strange, that Feliciano places his faith in Ludwig and says he deserves it and encourages him, and Ludwig doesn’t know  _why_  but the whys and wherefores are steadily becoming less important next to the arch of Feliciano’s back when Ludwig  _pushes_  his hips forward and disentangles a hand and trails it down between Feliciano’s legs.

He realizes that he’s mouthing words out against Feliciano’s throat and jaw, that they’re  _IloveyouIloveyouohGod_ , and if he weren’t already flushed he would be now but that’s not important anymore and Ludwig shifts up and forward until his face is buried in the soft brown curls around the blindfold at the side of Feliciano’s head and Feliciano’s mouth falls open at the change in angle- another smile, and his eyebrows are raised and his fingers clutch at Ludwig’s- and Ludwig keeps pushing in and out, as slow and hard as possible, and keeps stroking Feliciano until-

-Feliciano comes, wordlessly, mouth open and body open, shaking limbs and warmth and such tightness and Ludwig struggles to keep his pace while Feliciano shudders and relaxes, and he bites his lip so hard he thinks he tastes blood and he’s shaking too and-

-everything goes white for a few seconds. When that’s cleared up, Ludwig takes a few long moments to put the scattered pieces of his mind into working order, pulls off the condom, and then reaches up with his clean hand to remove the blindfold. It’s a little tricky, making sure he doesn’t pull any of Feliciano’s hair, but Ludwig manages and soon Feliciano hazily blinks up at him, eyes a little glazed. He unties each of Feliciano’s wrists and ankles in turn, checking for any chafing from the thin cords and wincing when he finds it, and then rolls onto his side and pulls Feliciano in for a hug, rubbing the tension out from between his shoulderblades.

Eventually Feliciano lets out a long, slow breath, almost a sigh, and Ludwig can feel his smile against his shoulder, and Feliciano places a slender hand on Ludwig’s upper arm and presses himself closer.

"That was  _good_ ,” he says, lazily stretching his legs out and wrapping them around Ludwig’s.

"I— good. ‘M glad." Ludwig cards his fingers through Feliciano’s thick hair.

"So… you liked it?" Feliciano glances up, and his eyes are bright as ever, and only brighten further when Ludwig says "Yes."

"Good. Means a lot to me."

"Oh?"

"That you’d agree to this. I mean, I know how worried you get sometimes, so— it just. Means a lot." Feliciano rests his cheek against Ludwig’s chest, eyes hooded, kind of damp and sticky, and Ludwig’s heart does one of those unbidden backflips that Feliciano seems to be able to cause.

"… Thanks. Means a lot that you– you’d trust me." Ludwig buries his burning face in Feliciano’s hair.

Feliciano smiles, “Of  _course_  I would!” and then Ludwig does something completely stupid, which is take Feliciano’s hand and kiss his wrist where the cord dug in, and Feliciano laughs- and calls him a sap, you _are_ , don’t try and deny it!- and kisses him.


	7. Desks

Feliciano knows how this started.   
  
He’d gone into his and Ludwig’s shared study just to have a little chat, and then he’d kissed Ludwig because, well, he was right there and why not? So then Feliciano had kissed him some more, because you really couldn’t kiss Ludwig just _once_ , if you did it just right then he’d go sort of melty and that took a few- some- a lot of tries to make sure he’d got it completely right but it was great except if Ludwig returned the kisses right Feliciano would go a little wobbly too, and since this had happened, Feliciano had ended up sitting on Ludwig’s desk. And had also noticed that Ludwig looked really good with his thin-rimmed reading glasses on.   
  
 _Really_  good.   
  
So one thing had led to another, and Feliciano  _might_  just have used his Super Persuasion Powers (also known as puppy-dog eyes and a very thorough knowledge of Ludwig’s weak points when it came to this), and, well. Here they are.   
  
And here, Feliciano thinks, insofar as he can when Ludwig does  _that_  with his tongue, is not a bad place to be at all.   
  
Here is Feliciano on the desk, trousers around one ankle and legs apart, and Ludwig between them with his hands on Feliciano’s thighs and his hair running to dishevelled from Feliciano’s fingers in it, and his mouth- oh Lord, his mouth that Feliciano can’t help but buck into shallowly, it’s a good mouth. If inexperienced.   
  
But that is really kind of the point, that Feliciano knows from Francis’s and Lovino’s and Gilbert’s stories that there are people out there who could do this with a good deal more finesse and possibly a little less teeth, but they wouldn’t be Ludwig. They wouldn’t be Ludwig, on his knees before Feliciano, and he wouldn’t trade Ludwig’s tentative licks and sucks for the whole world, or the way his blue-eyed gaze travels up to Feliciano’s face for reassurance that he’s doing this right, reassurance Feliciano gives with his hands in Ludwig’s hair and his gasps and smiles, or the way he bobs his head nearly shyly and makes quiet sounds in the back of his throat. And his hands are warm on Feliciano’s thighs, not callused any longer, and his thumbs rub circles into the skin, and he hollows his flushed cheeks and  _sucks_ -  
  
-“OhgodLudwig!” Feliciano tightens his fingers in Ludwig’s hair and pulls forward, nearly involuntarily, and Ludwig splutters a little and oh no, he hadn’t meant to do that, Ludwig gets nervous when Feliciano does that sort of thing if they haven’t talked about it beforehand, and he breathlessly says “Sorry.”  
  
Pulling his mouth away, Ludwig says “No— no, it’s okay,” and Feliciano barely has time to reply before Ludwig dips his head back down and opens his mouth again and Feliciano can’t tear his eyes away from the slide of Ludwig’s lips and tongue and the way his glasses are beginning to slip down his nose and how his broad shoulders relax a little. Bringing a hand hesitantly to wrap around at the base, Ludwig bobs his head again and Feliciano can’t help trembling as he swipes his tongue and hums just a little.   
  
It’s so difficult not to buck into Ludwig’s mouth, and it’s just so warm and wet, and the way his damp, swollen lips part and his eyes flick up to Feliciano’s face behind those glasses and his cheeks flush is enough to keep Feliciano awake at night never mind what his hand and his tongue and his mouth in general are doing, and he gives in and twitches his hips forwards with his hands in Ludwig’s hair, which is pretty thoroughly messed up by now, and sighs happily.   
  
Feliciano might just have pulled Ludwig forward a bit too much, though, and his eyes widen and he makes a surprised sound that vibrates right through Feliciano and he vaguely registers that Ludwig is pulling back and his tongue drags and  _oh_  wow-  
  
-Feliciano comes with a short gasp and in the seconds it takes for his head to clear he realizes that there’s something on Ludwig’s face, thick and pale, and drops of it on his glasses and oh no he hadn’t meant to do that at all but Ludwig doesn’t look disgusted, just alarmed, so maybe it’s okay?  
  
(oh, he hopes it’s okay, and not only because the blush and the surprise and the come all add up to something really wonderful)  
  
Ludwig coughs a little and shifts and then, blush intensifying and studiously not quite looking at Feliciano, drags his index and middle fingers through the come on his cheek and slips them into his mouth, eyes darting up as if to ask  _am I doing this right?_  and Feliciano nods  _yes_.  
  
And then he takes his fingers out and says “Actually, it doesn’t really, um, taste that good” and stares at the floor, and Feliciano replies “It’s okay” and hands Ludwig some tissues instead, sliding off the desk and onto his knees so they’re face-to-face.   
  
"Thanks," he chirps, placing a hand on Ludwig’s bicep. "Um, and you didn’t mind about the—" -Feliciano gestures vaguely at Ludwig’s face- "—did you?"  
  
Ludwig grins a bit and shakes his head, crumpling the tissue.   
  
Hugging him very enthusiastically, Feliciano squeaks “Great!” and then glances down between them and says “Uh, and do you want to get on the desk now?”, making very sure to lick his lips the tiniest bit, and Ludwig flushes all over again. 


	8. long tall grass

Feliciano’s laughter rings out into the warm air as Ludwig’s hands creep up underneath the hem of his shirt, and he’s  _so_ glad Ludwig suggested a picnic, and that Feliciano brought some wine, and that the Tuscan countryside is so warm and conducive to Ludwig drinking (not a lot- he’s not drunk, just relaxed) because when Ludwig is relaxed and warm Feliciano gets cuddled, and the weather is beautiful and the grass smells like sun, gold and green, and Feliciano runs his hands up Ludwig’s arms and digs his bare toes into the soil, pushing the two of them off the blanket and into the grass. He smiles broadly, dipping his head down until he and Ludwig are nose-to-nose, and settles further atop the sturdy body.

“Nice day,” Feliciano hums, stretching until his back curves and his palms press into the warm earth and grass. He moves his head down to the crook of Ludwig’s neck, supremely content with the world at large and especially the feeling of his partner’s arms around his back. “I’m so happy we decided to make the jump out here— it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Ludwig agrees, and his voice rumbles in his chest, and Feliciano giggles because Ludwig said “Yes, yo—” before backtracking.

It might be beautiful, but it’s also very hot and Feliciano wants nothing more than to take off his clothes and lie in the grass just touching, and he decides that Ludwig must be too warm as well and besides his tank top is stopping the touching, so he slips his fingers up Ludwig’s abdomen beneath the shirt and feels how the muscles there buckle at the touch and then stills his hands because Ludwig just lifted Feliciano’s head and kissed him.

It’s not a heated, passionate, need-you-now kiss, it’s fairly chaste and slow, just lips to lips sweetened by a little wine, but it makes Feliciano’s heart flutter nonetheless. Ludwig holds his head in place- well, not exactly holds, it’s just a few fingers lifting his face under the chin- and Feliciano deepens the kiss and tangles Ludwig’s cornsilk hair in his soil-stained fingers and their noses bump together but he doesn’t mind. They’re both a little breathless, partly from kissing and partly because Feliciano managed to convince Ludwig to play football earlier before it got too warm (and almost beat him at it, so  _ha_ ) and he doesn’t want to move at all from his space on top of Ludwig in the grass and noonday sun.

Feliciano moves his fingers down to hold the straps of Ludwig’s green tank top and pulls his head back just enough to see the sunlight catch on Ludwig’s eyelashes as he opens his eyes and smiles fondly, and he knows that look is mirrored on his own face, and he also sees the red on Ludwig’s nose and shoulders that has nothing to do with embarrassment.

“You sunburned a little,” and he pokes Ludwig’s nose, making him scrunch it up a little. Ludwig shrugs.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

And he kisses Feliciano again, and Feliciano relaxes into the feeling of Ludwig finally not being hesitant for once even if his hands are still tentative and slow on Feliciano’s back. It’s still Feliciano who rolls them over, relishing his land solid and warm beneath him and Ludwig solid and warm above him and the warm and still air around him, and he presses into Ludwig’s every touch and coaxes him further down into the long grass. Ludwig makes an odd stifled noise at Feliciano’s hand under his shirt and tongue in his mouth, pulling away enough to speak, although not far because Feliciano’s other hand is tangled in his hair.

“You— you’ll get grass stains,” he says, and Feliciano can tell he’s blushing even from this distance, and his words tickle on Feliciano’s lips and Feliciano chuckles and pulls Ludwig back down, accepting Ludwig’s weight and the addition of a few more clothes to the laundry basket when they get home. He keeps his hand under Ludwig’s shirt, running it up and down over muscle and spine and shoulderblades and warm skin and the dip at the small of his back. The sun is too hot for the kisses to be anything but lazy and soft, and Feliciano wouldn’t have it any other way- there is a time for quick and hard and rough but it isn’t now, not in the fresh grass and thick air, not with Ludwig’s lips at his jawbone and fingers at his sides, not with the surprised noise Ludwig makes at the first slow roll of Feliciano’s hips.

“Feli, someone might—” Ludwig begins, raising his head again.

Feliciano cuts him off. “Hardly anyone ever comes here, it’ll be okay.” And he tries to pull Ludwig closer again, but-

“Do you have—” Nodding, Feliciano takes a hand off Ludwig and begins fishing in his pants pocket, eventually emerging with a condom and a small container of lube and pressing them into Ludwig’s hands.

He furrows his brow at them. “Did you— you planned this.”

“Maybe.” Feliciano gives Ludwig his most winning smile and digs his bare feet into the ground again, trying to nudge Ludwig into moving.

Ludwig laughs then, low and clear, and it makes his teeth show and his bright blue eyes crinkle at the corners, and he says “You are  _unbelievable_ ,” leaning down to kiss Feliciano again, deep and warm and both laughing a little and Feliciano can’t resist rolling his hips again because it feels like sunlight all the way through him. He reaches down to start undoing his Bermudas, and Ludwig reaches down as well to help and Feliciano decides right then that Ludwig’s pants need to come off this instant, and by the time his own pants and boxers are off he’s managed to get Ludwig’s to about knee level, and Ludwig kicks them the rest of the way off, and Feliciano grabs him by the hips and pulls him close again, shaking at the contact and the wave of warmth it sends through him.

There are fingers tracing down the inside of his thigh, slick and just a little cold, and Feliciano nods his assent to Ludwig and sighs and  _mm_ s when Ludwig slides a finger in, stretching his legs out and curling his toes. Ludwig glances at his face, a silent  _are you all right_  that isn’t really necessary but Feliciano mouths  _yes, yes_ anyway and presses his hips up into the familiar stretch, welcoming it, and the long grass is soft underneath him and it is so, so warm.

Feliciano tips his head back, and he knows there’ll be grass in his hair, and he doesn’t care at all because Ludwig’s fingers slowly twist and crook inside of him. His shirt has ridden up to somewhere around his ribcage and, thankfully, so has Ludwig’s, and Ludwig bends low over him and mouths at his neck and  _oh_ it feels good, so good, and Feliciano clutches at Ludwig’s shoulders. Eventually Ludwig pulls his fingers out and Feliciano groans in discontent, but reaches up and helps him put on the condom anyway, and runs his hands up Ludwig’s back and wraps his legs around his waist as Ludwig begins pushing in, and another wave of warmth sweeps from his toes all the way up to the roots of his hair and it makes him grin and twist his hips up.

Slowly, gently, Ludwig begins thrusting- he’s always gentle with Feliciano, gentle and careful and cautious, like he’s afraid Feliciano will snap or break if he’s not careful, as if Feliciano is some sort of precious thing that Ludwig isn’t quite sure how to handle, and Feliciano means to tell him that he really doesn’t need to worry because he would never- could never- hurt Feliciano, and that thought makes him smile even wider and kiss Ludwig until his lips ache a little and Ludwig’s hands are in Feliciano’s curly hair and he moves slowly and evenly and they sigh and groan together quietly.

He’s definitely going to get grass stains, Ludwig isn’t rough but he certainly is thorough and Feliciano is extremely cooperative in this regard, but he really can’t think of any reason why the shirt (he never really liked it, anyway) could be more important than this, than Ludwig’s lips on his and their chests pressed so close together that Feliciano can feel Ludwig’s heart beating so quickly and the smell of grass and earth and sun and the two of them and he wishes he were in a position to see more of Ludwig but Feliciano is  _not_ going to complain at all about this.

They say silly, breathless things to each other, silly things in German that make Feliciano laugh and take a hand from Ludwig’s back to hold his hand instead and silly things in Italian that make Ludwig chuckle and nose at Feliciano’s jaw, little nothings and endearments and once or twice jokes that make Feliciano laugh and groan and stick his tongue out a bit all at the same time, and Ludwig’s slow, steady pace couples with him taking his free hand out of Feliciano’s hair and dragging it down to wrap around him and Feliciano tosses his head back and gasps and pushes forward into Ludwig’s hand.

Feliciano wishes he weren’t so close, but he can’t stop himself from thinking and every time he looks up at Ludwig (who’s close as well, Feliciano knows by the way he bites his lip and squeezes Feliciano’s hand) he can’t help thinking that Ludwig, powerful kind solid intelligent just-a-little-naive  _really_ good-looking Ludwig (who could really do better than silly flighty little Feliciano if Feliciano’s honest with himself and in a bad mood, the kind that Ludwig talks him out of as best he can) wants to do this with Feliciano and only Feliciano, that Ludwig who’s usually so shy of touching is okay with Feliciano kissing him and holding him, and the warmth of these thoughts mingles inside him with the warmth of arousal and the warmth of the sun and he presses kisses to every inch of Ludwig he can reach. He’s so full, of Ludwig and warmth and love and this muted but strong joy, that it makes his breath come fast and his arms and legs tremble and his back arch, and Ludwig’s hand moves faster and his face is pressed into the side of Feliciano’s neck and Feliciano breathes  _I love you_ again and again into the clean air.

When Feliciano comes, sighing and smiling and holding on to Ludwig, everything seems to go soft and quiet and bright for a moment, like the whole world’s been doused in sunlight, and it’s only a few moments more (it could be more, Feliciano can’t tell) before Ludwig shudders and stills, panting. They remain like that, nestled close to each other as they catch their breath, long enough for the familiar slow, logy, full feeling to settle in Feliciano’s stomach and relax all his limbs and make his eyelids heavy. Somehow, he finds the energy to try and roll them over.

If Feliciano reaches and strains his fingers, he can grab a few of the paper napkins out of the picnic basket, and he passes them to Ludwig, who wipes the two of them off and wraps the condom in them before sticking them back under one corner of the basket and trying to put his boxers back on without jostling Feliciano too much. It doesn’t really work, but he gets them back on somehow and Feliciano stretches atop him once more, then cuddles into his chest and smiles at the arms wrapped around him.

“There’s grass in your hair,” Ludwig mumbles, and he starts trying to comb it out of the curls with his fingers, and Feliciano looks down at him- still blushing and a bit sunburnt and bright-eyed and messy-haired- and falls for him all over again, legs tangled together in the long, tall grass and hot sun.


	9. The Last Person You'd Expect This From

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains toy use.

This would be more bearable if Germany didn’t look so completely calm about the whole thing.

 

Oh, he’d squirmed and hemmed and hawed through the conversation about trying this idea out, and had appeared very badly flustered before the meeting started, but now Germany is sitting next to Ghana, watching Norway’s presentation with all signs of being completely engrossed in whatever Norway’s talking about which Veneziano can’t concentrate on because  _oh Christ almighty_  Germany just changed the setting from the low buzz it’d been on to something that makes sparks show up at the corners of Veneziano’s vision and—

"Are you alright?" Jamaica turns to him, and it takes a moment for it to register.

"Oh, I’m— I’m fine," Veneziano replies, as airily as possible, and he scoots a little closer to the table just in case and breathes through his nose, stifling a squeak when it picks up even more.

They set up rules— Veneziano is not allowed to touch himself, although in a room this full somebody would be bound to notice and there would be Questions and it’d be  _really_  awkward so he won’t anyway but  _God_  does he want to because his pants are really uncomfortable right now and the vibration’s been slowly intensifying and receding all meeting and is Germany smiling?

He  _is_. Small and placid and entirely inoffensive, still watching Norway to all outward appearances.

That  _stinker_.

The vibration recedes again to something a little more manageable, and Veneziano tries to ignore Israel’s faintly suspicious glance at him and figure out what Norway’s even talking about.

The meeting is adjourned eventually, nowhere near soon enough, and Veneziano’s been shifting in his seat and trying not to make noise and it’s  _really_  hard to concentrate when Germany shifts the settings on the vibrator almost randomly but not quite and  _argh_  it’s definitely getting higher and finally, finally Belgium declares the meeting over.

Nobody files out of the room as fast as Veneziano would like, and he pretends to shuffle his papers with shaking hands, chewing on his lip, and finally,  _finally_  China picks up his pace and Austria locates the door and closes it behind him and they’re alone.

Germany still looks completely unperturbed and Veneziano is determined to completely mess that up because oh God he’s wanted to all meeting and turnabout is fair play and he stands, legs shaking, and tries to walk over to Germany’s chair.

Germany half-stands up to meet him but before he can do anything Veneziano grabs him with one hand in his hair and the other around his tie and hisses “You son of a  _bitch_ ” because he knows how Germany will never ever admit to liking it when Veneziano curses and he half-shoves Germany into sitting on the conference table with Veneziano straddling him and kissing him hard and messy like he’s wanted to since the meeting started. He can  _see_  the small, infernal remote hidden in Germany’s hand for just a second and then Germany smiles the tiniest bit into the kiss and there’s the faintest of  _click_ s and—

— _holy fucking Jesus_  were these things even supposed to go that high, oh Christ that was not fair at all, and Veneziano can’t and doesn’t hide his moan, and he grinds his hips into Germany’s and he needs out of these pants  _right now_  but as soon as he reaches down there’s a hand smacking his away.

"Ah-ah," Germany mutters, voice low and rough. "We agreed."

Veneziano would complain but he’s too busy panting and rocking his hips forward, and the vibration almost hurts there’s so  _much_  of it, and then there’s a blessed, blessed hand undoing his pants and slipping inside, large and warm, and it’s next to no time at all before Veneziano squeaks and moans and jolts his hips forwards, slumping against Germany.

Eventually he raises his head, panting, and slurs out “If we do this again, it’s going up you.”


	10. Familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains light bondage.

Germany is a regimented person.

He knows this, and he is working on it, but seventy years of habit are hard to shake and it is convenient for work, after all. It means he gets his job done, turns in the reports, everything on time, everything in its place.

Sometimes, though…

Sometimes, he doesn’t  _want_  to be regimented. To have to be in control. To work alone. To be unable to trust too deeply in others. To be Germany at all.

And he knows sometimes Veneziano wants nothing more than to be trusted, to be given control, to be really truly together with someone, not working, not allied, but  _together_  for reasons that have nothing to do with politics, never have and never will.

So then Germany is just Ludwig and Veneziano is just Feliciano and they do not have to worry about public relations or policy or tariffs, about any of it.

This is one of those times.

Ludwig came to Feliciano’s old house in Venice early this afternoon, since they hadn’t really seen each other in a month and he was stressed and Feliciano had invited him, and he’d brought up the idea of what they’re about to do—five minutes ago, actually, and Ludwig had stammered and sidetracked himself through the request as he always did.

Feliciano smiles at him, absently stirring the orzo cooking on the stove, and chirps “All right! Is after dinner okay?”

“I—yes.” Ludwig clears his throat a little, shifting. “And, um, the safe—”

“Maybe we could color-code for the safeword?” How does Feliciano talk about this so nonchalantly, like—like  _this_  is no different than what they could eat?

Maybe for him, it is, and Ludwig envies him that a little.

Soon enough, they are eating dinner, and Feliciano scoots his chair over to the side of Ludwig’s while they sit around the small table and leans into his side as he eats. Occasionally his foot slides up Ludwig’s leg, albeit a little clumsily, since playing footsie has never quite been Feliciano’s strong point. After about the fifth time Feliciano does this, Ludwig glares at him, although he knows quite well that glaring doesn’t seem to work on Feliciano (Feliciano has asked him, several times, what exactly “nei-nei-nei-ja” means and if there’s anyone else who says it) and Feliciano just smiles and slips his arm around Ludwig’s back.

A few moments later, Ludwig returns the motion.

Feliciano twists around enough to crane up and kiss him on the cheek, grinning that soft, wide grin of his, and says “Are you done?”

“Mostly, yes,” but Ludwig can’t continue because Feliciano has swung himself out of his chair and onto Ludwig’s lap— _how_  is he so agile in matters like this?—and sits nose-to-nose, lips mere inches from Ludwig’s own.

And then they’re not, they’re against his and soft and warm and his mouth tastes of buttery pasta and Ludwig sighs, they’re  _right_ , that’s what they are. They’re right, Feliciano’s kisses are always right even when they’re in public and kissing while one of their bosses is even in the same building is still a little off for Ludwig, but they’re secure and undemanding and don’t push and pressure and force. Instead, his lips move gently, nudging Ludwig’s mouth to open, and one slender hand cradles Ludwig’s jawbone and the other rests at the back of his neck. Ludwig wraps his own arms around Feliciano, almost forgetting for a second that they haven’t done the dishes and—and he can’t think of other objections right now, he’s been stressed out lately and sorely missed these moments, the quiet and soft and sweet of Feliciano kissing him.

Feliciano pulls back, barely, still so close that Ludwig can feel his every breath, and says “I missed you,” so quietly Ludwig’s not entirely sure if he heard it.

He answers anyway. “I missed you, too.”

“Mm. Missed doing this,” and Feliciano kisses him again, pressing himself so close Ludwig can feel his heartbeat through their shirts, and he knows he’s beginning to blush and he doesn’t care that much, and after so long together the little voice that says  _stop it, you’re being indecent_  has nearly gone away the times it should, and Ludwig kisses Feliciano back and grips Feliciano’s shirt.

Eventually (a little part of his mind says far too soon), they pull away, and Feliciano mutters “Not going to suggest cleaning up?”

“Well, if you  _insist_.” Ludwig makes as if to get up, and Feliciano half-laughs and doesn’t move an inch from Ludwig’s lap and Ludwig honestly doesn’t mind at all, a month is far too long even though they have Skype, and he’s moved one hand up to the back of Feliciano’s head, soft, curly hair tousling beneath his fingers. Leaning in close again, Feliciano nips at Ludwig’s lips, and one hand moves from his neck to begin toying with the buttons on Ludwig’s shirt.

Ludwig is not one to lose track of time, but he begins to as the kisses become slower and deeper, more fervent, and the hand in his hair begins to pull, and Feliciano straddles Ludwig in the not-very-comfortable chair and rolls his hips flat against Ludwig’s.

“I think—” Feliciano says breathily, lowly, just as Ludwig says “Bed?”, and Feliciano nods—his eyes are clear, brown and deep, and they shine a little as they meet Ludwig’s, and sometimes it’s hard to believe anyone could look at him like that—and slips off him, taking Ludwig’s broad hand in his soft ones, and they hurry up the narrow stairs into the bedroom. By the time they’re there, Feliciano’s got Ludwig’s shirt half undone and Ludwig has thoroughly mussed Feliciano’s hair and they stumble into the bedroom, Feliciano giggling and Ludwig smiling.

A little bit of his ever-present nervousness has reentered the equation, as it clicks in Ludwig’s mind that they’re really  _doing_  this, they’re really going to go through with it—

—Feliciano quite nearly leaps into his arms, knocking them both back onto the low bed, and almost as soon as Ludwig registers the change Feliciano’s mouth is back against his own, all familiar, longed-for insistence and the beginnings of bites, sloppy and fervent and _God_  has Ludwig missed this. Fingers slipping up underneath the hem of Ludwig’s shirt, Feliciano is making the little “mm” noises so familiar to Ludwig even when he hasn’t heard them for far too long, and then Ludwig’s shirt is off— _somehow_ , Feliciano has a hidden talent for not only stripping himself, but others—and Feliciano’s fingers are around his wrists and holding them down, thumbs brushing the insides of Ludwig’s palms.

The thing about this is, Ludwig could break away. Any time he wanted, he could pull away from Feliciano easily—so easily—and roll them over, be the one pinning Feliciano, completely take control. He  _could_.

But he won’t. Ludwig doesn’t pull away from the slender, strong fingers holding him, the hot, smiling mouth seeking his out, the warm, willowy body pinning him down, because the point is that he doesn’t have control, that he doesn’t have to. That even though he doesn’t, it’s still okay.

As quickly as Feliciano was on him, he’s off him, rolling to the side, although not before he rolls his hips one last time. Feliciano begins to rifle through the bedside drawers, and Ludwig props himself up on his elbows to watch. He mumbles to himself as he searches, “No—no, I think it was here—where  _did_  I put them—?”

He’s nearly falling off the bed, and Ludwig places a preemptive hand on his ankle, watching the twist and curve of Feliciano’s back as he digs around in the bottom drawer and eventually emerges victorious, beaming.

“Uh—okay, I’ve got the blindfold, a gag, and some ties—um, can we not use the gag, though?” Feliciano looks up at Ludwig through his long, dark eyelashes. “It’s too hard to kiss you when you’re wearing it.”

“All right.”

Feliciano flings the gag over his shoulder and Ludwig feels a momentary twinge of  _go put that back in its proper place_  but it’s extremely difficult to act on when Feliciano is back on top of him and enthusiastically demonstrating just what it’s so hard to do when Ludwig is gagged, which seems to involve heated and ardent applications of tongue. Ludwig isn’t sure who exactly it is that rolls them over, but it happens and Ludwig is lying on Feliciano, whose hands move from his chest to slide down his back and into his pants and squeeze—

—and Ludwig makes a noise that is  _not_  a squeak thank you very much. Feliciano’s hands stay on Ludwig’s backside, and he chirps “You make really cute noises, you know?”

“I  _don’t_.”

Feliciano cocks an eyebrow, smiling beatifically, and gooses him again. “Yeah, you do!” He wiggles underneath Ludwig, pressing himself closer, and Ludwig decides not to argue the point further because Feliciano just did a  _thing_  with his hips and  _yes_  if he’d do that again please. They roll again, Feliciano seems a little indecisive about how exactly he wants to do this, and—

—only quick action on Ludwig’s part prevents them from falling off the bed. Feliciano slides down anyway, pulling Ludwig down with him until he’s pinned between Feliciano and the side of the bed, and they kiss again, and Feliciano  _bites_  so hard Ludwig can’t stifle a groan, and then his fingers are in Ludwig’s hair and pulling and his hips roll again and he makes this odd sort of breathy half-growl that sounds honestly very strange in Feliciano’s light tenor.

They both pull back, and Feliciano’s eyes are heavy-lidded and dark, and Ludwig can’t look away from the way his lips shape around the “Do you want to put on the blindfold now?”

Ludwig nods.

Feliciano reaches across Ludwig and onto the bed, grabbing for the blindfold, and kisses the very tip of Ludwig’s nose as he ties it on, slowly and carefully, the way he always does. Ludwig can imagine the smile on his face as he pulls away, soft and wide and white-toothed, and he flushes a little—he can’t help it, really.

“O-kay,” Feliciano says cheerily, “and now I think you should probably not have clothes on anymore.” Ludwig is about to say that it’s hardly fair if Feliciano hasn’t even taken his shirt off yet, but then Feliciano slides his hands down Ludwig’s chest and stomach to his belt and undoes it alarmingly quickly and then his hands are—oh Lord they’re in his pants and palming him, one sliding around to dart into his boxers and grab at his backside again and the other—oh  _God_.

“You squeaked again!” Does Feliciano sound— _gleeful_? Ludwig would roll his eyes, if the gesture could have been noted. Instead, he raises his eyebrows as Feliciano pulls Ludwig’s pants down his thighs, and shifts a little uncomfortably as his boxers follow them. He knows it’s really a little ridiculous to be self-conscious when this…sort of thing has been going on between them for years and years, but even though he can’t see he can  _feel_  Feliciano’s eyes on him.

There’s a cheery “Hm!” from in front of Ludwig, and Feliciano shuffles even closer and reaches around to begin tying Ludwig’s hands behind his back with the soft cloth. When he’s done, he runs his hands up Ludwig’s arms to settle on his shoulders and gives him a quick peck on the lips, so light Ludwig’s not entirely sure whether it happened.

“Is that okay?” Feliciano murmurs. “Not too tight?”

“It’s fine.”

Feliciano hums again, and his hands drop from Ludwig’s shoulders to run over him again, just—touching, scratching lightly along his chest and tickling the insides of his thighs, and he laughs quietly every time Ludwig squirms a little, trying to accustom himself again to the way Feliciano nuzzles at the space right under his ear and rubs circles into his hipbones.

Feliciano’s hips are rocking into his, Ludwig notices, minutely but there, and he’s nearly straddling Ludwig now, and when he kisses he pulls the hair at the back of Ludwig’s head so he’s the one leaning up into the kiss. Suddenly, though, he’s not—the warm body is gone from his lap, the soft mouth has left, the quick hands no longer scratch and stroke, and Ludwig is surprised to find himself disoriented, blindfolded and separated from the man he  _knows_  can’t be more than three feet away.

There are footsteps to his left, quick and light, and then the soft, fabric sound of someone sitting on the bed, and a hand— _Feliciano’s_  hand—settles in his hair, tousling the strands.

“Turn around?”

He does, on his knees, and his nose bumps Feliciano’s knee. There is a faint giggle, and then there are fingers on his lips, and a thumb, faint calluses from paintbrushes and, Ludwig knows, little flecks of paint beneath the nails and in the lines, because he knows Feliciano’s hands like he knows his own. Before he can stop himself, Ludwig kisses the tip of Feliciano’s thumb, quickly, and he can almost  _hear_  Feliciano’s smile.

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

Feliciano always asks that, ever since the first time they tried this, and Ludwig answers with a nod, like he has every time they tried this.

“And you remember the safeword, right?”

Another nod.

Ludwig leans into Feliciano’s touch as Feliciano cradles Ludwig’s jaw in one hand and kisses his forehead, lightly, and his thumb swipes over Ludwig’s lips to the corner of his mouth, and he says “Move forwards a little please?”

He shuffles forwards on his knees, and then there is the faint clink of a belt buckle and the rustle of clothing and a hand on the back of his head nudging him forward, and Ludwig closes his eyes behind the blindfold and opens his mouth.

It’s been too long since he’s last done this, since he’s last been intimate with Feliciano at all, and Feliciano lets out a ragged “Oh—oh  _wow_ ” as he thrusts in minutely. Soon it turns into soft “mm”s and his hands don’t stop moving over Ludwig’s head and neck, now dragging through his hair, now resting on the sides of his face, and that is familiar too.

Feliciano shudders above him, fingers tightening in Ludwig’s hair,  and Ludwig hollows his cheeks and slides his mouth down as far as he can. It’s a little clumsy, he can’t see or use his hands, but he knows how to do this and he must be doing something right, anyway, judging by the way Feliciano moans when Ludwig moves his head back up, shifting from sucking to licking. His cheeks are flushed, he knows, and he can imagine the dark pink spreading across Feliciano’s round face, and the “o”-shape of his mouth and the curve of his spine.  The hand on his head pushes him forward again, and Ludwig gags slightly, nose brushing the hair at Feliciano’s base.

Feliciano mumbles in Italian somewhere above him, dialect shifting back and forth from Venetian to Paduan, and his words slide down Ludwig’s spine to curl up at its base. Ludwig bobs his head in response, and he feels calm, so calm, and there is nothing else demanding his attention but Feliciano, no graphs or reports, and Feliciano’s warm hands flit from his scalp to his face and Ludwig leans into them.

He’s not sure entirely how long he stays there, knelt in front of Feliciano, but eventually his head is nudged backwards and off, and then there is another fabric sound, and the bed creaks the tiniest bit, and then Feliciano is in front of him and kissing him, quietly, hands on his shoulders. Feliciano slips a hand down, between Ludwig’s thighs, squeezes him gently, just enough that his breath stutters.

“Stand up?” Feliciano whispers.

Ludwig does, knees stinging a little from the carpet.

Feliciano touches the small of his back, gently, and guides him to bend over the edge of the bed, the side of his face pressed into the soft sheets. Ludwig feels Feliciano sit next to him, and there’s the  _pop_  of a lube container.

A kiss is pressed to Ludwig’s shoulder, and a finger is pressed inside.

Feliciano moves it so slowly, so gently, that Ludwig actually whimpers, and then turns even redder—his face is nearly burning, and Feliciano knows Ludwig’s body as well as Ludwig knows Feliciano’s, and his finger brushes against  _that spot_  and Ludwig’s hips, entirely outside of his control, twitch back.

Meanwhile, Feliciano’s lips have moved up along the slope of Ludwig’s shoulder to his neck and Ludwig knows Feliciano knows about how sensitive his neck is that’s not entirely fair _—oh God—_

Ludwig groans a little, and Feliciano smiles against his neck before biting, hard, and there’ll be a mark in the morning, Ludwig knows, but it doesn’t matter when he simultaneously pushes in the next two fingers, Feliciano’s always been just a bit impatient when they do this. But then, it’s not really impatience so much as it is—Ludwig’s not sure what it is, besides good and oh-god-like-that-again- _please_. 

Shaking, Ludwig rocks his hips back again. His legs hurt a little, not bad, but the position he’s in is a bit awkward and his knees are bent oddly to accommodate it. The way Feliciano spreads his fingers apart, stretching, is quite a distraction, though, and Ludwig balls his hands into fists and bites his lip. He twists back and manages to kiss Feliciano on what must be right beneath his eye—it is, his cheek curves just  _so_  there, and then Feliciano laughs quietly and kisses him on the temple and slides his fingers deeper, and then nearly out.

And then in again, slowly, so slowly it takes all of Ludwig’s rapidly fraying self-control not to writhe, and his mouth drops open and his eyebrows slide up. Stroking Ludwig’s hair out of his face, Feliciano crooks his fingers just  _so_  and holds them there.

“A-aah—”

“You like that?”

Ludwig would fix him with his most incredulous look if he had the capacity for doing so right now, but instead he groans again and nods.

Feliciano nuzzles against Ludwig’s neck, and Ludwig can picture him stretched out next to him, one hand in Ludwig’s hair and the other stretched down, fingers buried deep, and the way his legs are folded so they brush against Ludwig’s side, and the smile that is doubtless on his face.

Those slender fingers press just a little deeper, and he can’t hold back the next “ohh” that escapes his lips.

It’s… odd, really, how Feliciano is never  _forceful_  these times. Rough, yes, forward, yes, but he’s never been forcing—never tried to hurt Ludwig, never gone ahead uncaring, and there’s no way Ludwig can think of to express his gratitude, because Feliciano’s always been better at that as well. What Ludwig can do, though, is make sure Feliciano knows he’s okay, he can do this, and he does, with faint pants and gasps as Feliciano’s fingers continue their motions inside him.

Definitely too soon, Feliciano pulls his fingers out, nosing at Ludwig’s jaw. When he whispers “Are you ready?” his breath is warm and damp in Ludwig’s ear, and Ludwig whispers back “Yes, yes” and parts his legs a little further, still not in the most comfortable of positions. The weight is gone from beside him, and there are palms running down his back to his hips, and lips pressed to his spine, and a vague hum of appreciation—and then—

—Feliciano pushes in, just as slowly as he had with his fingers, and Ludwig realizes five seconds too late that he’s mouthing  _please_  into the mattress, and Feliciano’s hand twines with his own bound ones for just a second before it digs into his hips and Feliciano begins to thrust.

It’s as though Ludwig’s head is full of a kind of fog, through which the small noises Feliciano makes, the  _oh-god_ s and  _mm_ s and  _loveyou_ s (these last spoken as all one word, as though the concepts are inseparable, and they crowd the back of Ludwig’s head until he thinks he might fall apart— _God he’s missed this—him—all of it_ ) slip clear as bells, and the constant sensations—the in-out-in, the way Feliciano pulls Ludwig’s hips back but he’s definitely not doing all the work there, the way he bends close to Ludwig and kisses and whispers and bites, even the feel of cloth at his wrists and against his face—slide up from his hips and down from his head and all through his body, and everything else seems so far away—it’s just him and Feliciano and the sheets beneath his torso.

Ludwig’s heart races in his chest as Feliciano’s pace becomes quicker, more emphatic, and they try to establish some sort of rhythm and fail, and fail, and fail, but that doesn’t matter, because the irregularity—how Feliciano sometimes slows his hips to deeper, rolling motions or quickens in sharp bursts, how Ludwig is caught between rocking his hips back against Feliciano or moving forwards against the bed to gain some kind of relief—makes it all the better, all the sweeter.

Feliciano definitely is picking up speed, though, and his thrusts make Ludwig’s breath come short and quick and his jaw drop and he realizes the person moaning after every thrust is himself, and then one of Feliciano’s hands is in his hair and pulling—

—“ _Ahhh!_ ”—

—and Feliciano tugs Ludwig’s head back and bites down on his neck,  _God_  that  _stings_  and it makes his back arch and curve and it drives Feliciano further inside of him, and his toes and fingers curl, and before Ludwig knows it he cries out, legs shaking, flush spreading down across his chest.

“Please!”

“Please what?” Feliciano’s movements slow again, and Ludwig makes a noise of protest. The hand not in Ludwig’s hair has already begun to move downwards from his hipbone, along the v-shape of his hips, and Feliciano’s voice, still a light tenor, has become lower, a little earthier, and strained.

“I—ahh—” It’s always so embarrassing to say these things, to plead, is and always has been, and he knows he’s red all over, but  _God_  he just  _needs_ — “—Let me come,  _please—_  ”

Feliciano’s hand covers the little remaining distance and wraps around him, and Ludwig’s knees nearly give out then and there.

They don’t, though, and Ludwig bucks into Feliciano’s hand and curls his fingers into fists and squeezes his eyes shut behind the blindfold, mouthing pleas and curses into the air. Feliciano answers him with talented fingers and words said into his neck, little  _so good_ s and  _bello, bello_ s and  _Iloveyou_ s, and it is with these quiet words ringing in his mind, with Feliciano finally  _there_ , that Ludwig bites down on his lip, shakes, and comes.

Through the hazy aftermath, Feliciano is still moving, and it might be a minute and it might be a thousand years before he cries out and jerks his hips one last time. When he pulls away from Ludwig and lets go of his hair, Ludwig slides to his knees, still panting.

He should not feel lost when Feliciano is right there, but he can’t touch him, can’t feel him, and it’s cold, sweat drying on his skin.

Hands on his shoulders— _Feliciano’s_  hands on his shoulders—pull him upwards and forwards, and Ludwig realizes through the fog that Feliciano is trying to get him onto the bed. His legs wobble dangerously as he tries to help, but they manage, and Feliciano pulls Ludwig to his warm body and clumsily unties his hands. He unties the blindfold next, and Ludwig winces a little at the sudden light, squeezing his eyes shut.

Resting his head against Feliciano’s chest—he had, at some point, removed his clothes, and it would be useless to wonder entirely when, since sudden clothing loss was another of Feliciano’s talents—Ludwig wraps his arms around Feliciano’s waist and opens his eyes.

Feliciano sighs happily, stroking Ludwig’s hair. “That was  _good_.”

Ludwig nods, too tired to say anything.

“I’m glad you’re back,” and Feliciano cuddles closer and kisses him, and they’re both sticky and need to take a shower, and they’re too warm and too finally  _there_  to move, curled up in each other.

This is familiar, and there are no tariffs and no reports, and Ludwig does not have to think about Germany at all.


	11. Tired

When Ludwig kisses back, it is lazy and tired, and Feliciano knows why. It is because it’s one A.M. and Ludwig is always kind of tired after they have sex and  _especially_ if they do it more than once and that is kind of creating a little problem right now because Feliciano isn’t tired, or at least part of him isn’t and it’s kind of really uncomfortable.

Ludwig seems to have noticed, and he eyes Feliciano wearily. “Ciano, I—”

“I know,” Feliciano murmurs. “Too tired.” He rolls away from Ludwig, making to get up off the bed and slip into the bathroom so he can take care of this—

A hand on his hip stops him.

“Uh?”

“Y-you don’t have to. Um.” Ludwig looks incredibly unsure of how to put this. “You c-can stay if you want. Just. Uh—”

“ _Oh_.” Feliciano grins, sliding back into bed. “Tell me if I do something you don’t want, okay?”

“Mm.”

Wriggling under the covers, Feliciano presses himself to Ludwig’s side—“Okay?” “Yes,”—and then the thing is, the thing is Ludwig’s skin is really warm and feels really,  _really_  good against him, and Feliciano rocks his hips a little and Ludwig’s breath hitches in surprise.

“Should I—”

“You can keep going.” One of Ludwig’s hands is in his hair, and Feliciano buries his face in Ludwig’s shoulder and rolls his hips again against Ludwig’s thigh.

“Nn…”

Before long, he’s wrapped one of his legs around Ludwig’s and his hips are moving at a—not-quite-steady pace and Ludwig raises his leg slightly, just enough to press back against Feliciano, just enough to make him whine the tiniest bit, and Feliciano clutches the sheets in his fingers and keeps rubbing himself against Ludwig.

He’s tired too, more or less, and his motions are a little haphazard, and when broad fingers press against his lips he opens his mouth and mutters against them a little, eyes hooded. It’s very warm under the blankets, and Ludwig is warm, and Feliciano is warm and there’s heat curling low in his belly as Ludwig presses back against him again and he moves his hips faster, legs now nearly wrapped around Ludwig’s.

When he comes, it is with a sigh and a low moan against the fingers in his mouth, a final jerk of the hips, and he relaxes boneless atop Ludwig, reluctantly moving at last to wipe them off.

And when he kisses Ludwig again, it is lazy and tired, and goodnight passes between their kiss and sinks beneath the weight of the dark and the blankets and their entwined legs.


	12. four times they tried and the one time it worked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany and Italy attempt to have skype sex. Things do not go as planned.

1.

 

“Okay, wait, so how am I supposed to sit? ‘Cause I want to see you but you have to see me how am I going to do this?”

“Uh—try sitting up against the headboard a little more?”

“Like this?”

“Ghk.”

“Are you okay?”

“Ghk.”

 

2.

 

“ _Mmh_ keep going, you— _ah!_ —you look so good like that—”

“I—oh God—ah _hhGod damn it!_ ”

“What?”

“I unplugged the laptop—God  _damn_  it where’d the cord go—”

“ _Germany do you really need to plug it back in right this second we were kind of in the middle of something._ ”

“Yes, yes I  _do_  as a matter of fact, the battery life on this is next to nothing—where the  _hell_  is the _cord—_ ”

“It’s to your left.”

 

3.

 

“Feliciano.”

“Y-yeah?”

“I appreciate the sentiment but I am in the middle of a meeting and I really do not think the Chancellor would want to see you withou—would want to see you like that  _no Chancellor nothing is going on right now just clearing something up._ ”

“Oh.”

“Please put your underwear bac— _no Chancellor it’s really nothing you’d be interested in—_ ”

 

4.

 

“God—mh, ‘Ciano, I—oh G-God—”

“Ah, ah, mm _motherfucker!_ ”

“D-did you just fall off the bed.”

“No, no I started levitating stop  _laughing at me!_ ”

“I—pfff—”

“Sto _o_ op!”

 

5.

 

“Mmh— _mmh—ohhh_ …”

“I—a _ah!_ ”

“That was—”

“—good. that was really good.”

“I’m quite glad you didn’t fall off the bed this time.”

“Hmph.”

“Love you too.”

“Love you—whoa, it’s midnight over there, you should go to bed.”

“All right. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Okay. G’night, Ludwig. Love you.”

“I love you too. Sleep well.”


	13. Pointers

It took Germany  _hours_  to work up the courage to begin this discussion, and now he has, he’s still really not sure about it. The vaunted advice books don’t help much at all, since considering carrying out those situations is enough to make Germany fret about all the ways it could go wrong.

Deep breaths, Beilschmidt.

“Um. Feliciano.”

“Yeah?” Italy turns to him from where he’s sprawled on the bed on his stomach, idly leafing through a magazine.

“I—uh—I was wondering. Do. Um D-do you think I’m—boring in—in bed? Because I’ve never d-done anything that—that could be considered, uh, kinky, and—” God, his cheeks are nearly on fire right now, and Italy must think he’s weird or something for bringing this up just out of the blue, and he lapses into silence, worrying at the cuff of his sweater.

There’s a hand on his knee, and Italy wiggles upright. “Are you asking do I think you’re boring because we’ve only had vanilla sex or do I think having vanilla sex is boring because the answer to both of those is no but um the first one is really really no so uh which is it?”

It takes a moment for Germany to process this sentence, delivered as it is in a rush, and then he clears his throat and mutters “Both.”

“Ah,” Italy hums. “Well, uh, I don’t think you’re boring at all, you’re actually really interesting and you’re not boring in bed, at least I don’t think you are, and also vanilla sex isn’t boring at all—have you been getting bored?”

“N-no, but I was worried that—”

“That I was?”

Germany nods.

“I’m not, though,” Italy says, patting him on the knee and smiling, “and why would vanilla sex be boring?”

“I—well—I was just—” Worried, because Germany knows Italy is more experienced in these matters, at the very least in talking about them, and you don’t grow up around the Roman Empire and Greece and France and Romano without hearing things, and what if there’re expectations he’s not meeting—

Italy rolls into his lap. “You’re not boring, and neither is having sex with you. Especially not vanilla sex, ‘cause I mean it’s really fun and feels good and I really like doing it with you and wait why were you asking?”

“I just, um, wanted to know.”

“Well, it’s not,” says Italy, and he nestles his head into the crook of Germany’s neck.

Silence falls, soft and comfortable.

“Wait did you want to try kinky stuff—”

Germany nearly chokes on air. “N-no,” he stammers out.

Italy appears about to say something, then trails off. He waves his feet in the air, drawing one finger along the cabling on Germany’s sweater. “I-if you wanted—”

“Hm?”

“—I could give you some pointers, if you want.” He looks up at Germany. “If you really think you need to get better.”

“It’d be…nice.” Germany really can’t avoid Italy’s eyes, can he, not when they’re looking at him like that…

Italy bites his lower lip and says, “Hands-on demonstration, do you think?” and the accursed dull red flush is creeping its way across Germany’s cheeks already, and he nods yes anyways because isn’t that always how it is with Italy.

Craning up, Italy kisses him quickly, smiling that sleepy smile of his. “Do you want to wait until after dinner, or?”

Before he can stop himself, Germany brushes a few stray hairs out of Italy’s face. “We can order out, if you want.”

Italy is on him before he can say another word, sweet-smelling and grinning widely, and he cradles Germany’s face in his hands and leans in close until they’re nose to nose and murmurs “Sounds  _great_ ,” and then leans in even closer and kisses him again, biting softly at Germany’s lower lip. He presses closer, brushing his thumbs across Germany’s cheekbones, and Italy kisses like he does everything else, as if he’s got all the time in the world, gentle and coaxing and sweet, lithe body settling atop Germany’s. Warmth floods all through Germany, sweeping down his spine and up his arms from where his hands rest on Italy’s back, from where their mouths are linked, and he sighs into the kisses, curling his fingers in Italy’s shirt.

“So,” Italy half-whispers, “the first really important thing is foreplay, ‘cause you’ve got to make sure the other person is really super comfortable and happy and foreplay helps a lot with that ‘cause it’s like cuddling but even more.” He presses his lips to Germany’s cheek quickly. “You’re usually pretty good about it, but sometimes I think we don’t do enough, and then you’re all nervous and it’s not as fun.” His fingers have begun slipping up Germany’s sweater and shirt as he speaks, pulling the fabric along with them. “And one thing that really helps is kissing. So!”

Germany’s shirt is off before he knows it, and Italy’s lips are back against his, and Italy mutters “Also—skin is—very nice” between kisses, hands running up his sides and along his chest. Made just a bit bolder, Germany slides his fingers up Italy’s back beneath his shirt, and Italy makes a noise of bright approval, pulling away from the kiss just enough to wiggle out of his t-shirt and then dropping right back down again, slim fingers curling in Germany’s hair.

“Good!” He chirps. “So the point is basically do what you think will be fun, and I think kissing you all over would be really really fun, and what do you think?”

“I think—” Germany’s voice has become a little deeper, a little hoarser, and it makes him flush even more. “I think that sounds—good.”

Italy has already started mouthing at his neck, hips rolling minutely and hands wandering aimlessly.

_What you think will be fun_ …that was very open-ended. Hm.

Germany realizes that his own hands are in Italy’s hair and—there’s an idea. He locates the one curl as best he can considering the very distracting effect Italy’s lips seem to have, and gives it a tug. He can feel Italy smile against his neck, and his back arches, and the next kiss isn’t a kiss but a bite on his collarbone, not hard but there’re teeth, and then Italy really starts making good on his promise and Germany can’t do anything but try to stifle the really  _embarrassing_  noises he keeps making and completely fail when Italy starts undoing Germany’s pants and pushing them down his thighs.

“U-um, should I—” he mumbles, and Italy smiles and says “Whatever you want,” and so Germany sits up and undoes Italy’s belt, unzips his pants. Shuffling even closer to sit between Germany’s legs, Italy pulls him down for another kiss, holds him by the hips, presses himself close all along Germany’s front. He is warm, so warm, soft skin and faintly chapped lips and hands surprisingly strong for their slenderness, and Germany sighs into his mouth and swallows down his nervousness just enough to slip a hand down and palm Italy quickly.

Italy moans faintly, craning up into the kiss, and then he slides his hands up to Germany’s shoulders and presses him back gently onto the bed.

“You’re doing great,” he says. “Do you like this?”

Germany nods.

“You seem pretty relaxed.” Italy pats his face quickly, grinning. “But, you know, I think you could do with a little more.”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hm!” Italy nods. “And I was thinking…” He wiggles down just a little, begins mouthing at Germany’s clavicle. “…One thing that  _really_  would help you relax…” More, and he kisses the spot just below Germany’s sternum, making him jump a little. “…Would be if I gave you head. Sound good?” Even more, and he nips Germany’s hipbone, glancing up.

Germany’s voice squeaks a little on the “Yes,” and his face must be so red right now, and none of that matters because his breath stops dead in his throat when Italy dips his head down and mouths at Germany’s boxers. It isn’t the first time they’ve done this but that doesn’t matter, it doesn’t, because  _now_ Italy’s actually got Germany’s boxers all the way off and his head is back down and oh God oh God oh  _God where did he learn to do that_.

Italy bobs his head and sucks, and oh God is he taking his time, and Germany can’t help bucking his hips but Italy makes a sort of choking noise and Germany manages to gasp “S-sorry.”

“’S okay,” Italy says quickly, pulling away just long enough to speak before opening his mouth again and placing a hand on Germany’s hips to still them, eliciting a hoarse groan.

Italy  _is_  taking his own sweet time with this, and he’s not experienced but oh dear Lord he’s enthusiastic, and Germany manages to build up enough bravery through the warm haze in his head to rest a hand on Italy’s head, tangling the curly hair. His other hand—he really doesn’t know what to do with it, and it ends up gripping the bedsheets when Italy does this  _thing_  with his tongue.

He doesn’t pull Italy’s hair, not even when Italy wraps one hand around his base and hollows his cheeks and sucks, glancing up through his eyelashes (which are so dark and long that there’s probably some sort of law against them), and grins at Germany’s moan.

When Germany comes, it is with a short gasp and a sort of all-over tensing, and Italy raises his head back up and wipes the corner of his mouth and sits back up, smiling. “That’s one thing you can do,” he says cheerily, “and almost always it makes the other person feel really good! You can try it on me next time, see how it goes?”

Germany mumbles in reply and Italy chuckles, bumping his nose against Germany’s jaw. They lie there as Germany catches his breath.

It must be uncomfortable for Italy, he realizes, he’s hard and really hasn’t had any stimulation, and Germany reaches a hand down tentatively.

“Is this okay?”

Italy goes wide-eyed for a second, and then beams. “Yes!”

Nervously, cheeks going red all over again, Germany slides his hand into Italy’s boxers and starts stroking. Before long, Italy begins to pant and twitch his hips forward, and Germany is getting hard again, and—

“Do you want to keep going?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Okay!” Italy scoots quickly to the side to rummage through the top drawer of the nightstand. “So, next is preparation, and you’re really good about that too so you don’t need to worry about it. Uh, but the general thing here is to take your time and make sure the other person is happy because otherwise it kind of hurts.” He must have caught Germany’s worried look, because the next thing he says is “You’ve never hurt me, though!”

As he speaks, he slicks up his fingers with the lube he’d pulled from the nightstand, and he pats Germany’s thigh and says “Scoot up a little please?”

Germany does, and Italy smiles softly and nudges his legs a little further apart. “You’re beautiful like this, you know that? Well, all the time really, but like this too,” he murmurs. “Ooh—that’s another thing, compliments’re also a good idea. And it’s true.”

Momentarily, Germany wonders if it’s too late to start writing these down, but then Italy runs fingers down the back of his thigh and slowly, carefully works one inside of him and Germany really, really can’t concentrate on anything else right now. Italy moves his finger slowly, so slowly, and his other hand finds its way to Germany’s and holds it, lacing their fingers together, and the look of mixed concentration and affection on Italy’s face makes Germany’s already-pounding heart do something kind of weird.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” His breath is coming a little short, though, but judging from the other times they’ve done this that’s a normal thing, and he grips Italy’s hand tighter.

“Can I put a second one in?”

“Yes.”

Italy does, and it makes Germany arch his back a little, and he spreads the two fingers apart and pulls them together, moves them as one, and as he slides the third one in he whispers comforting things and Germany un-tenses and accepts the stretch, curling his toes.

Gently, quietly, Italy works him open, leaning in close and holding his hand, saying silly things to him in a mix of Italian and German, kissing his throat, until Germany pants and shakes and rolls his hips forwards, gone completely red.

“Do you think you’re ready?” Italy whispers, pulling away far too soon and not soon enough.

Licking his lips, Germany nods.

Italy sits back on his heels, wriggling out of his boxers and rolling on the condom, and settles his slight frame between Germany’s legs.

“And the really important part here,” he half-whispers, “is that you go really slow and make sure they always feel the best they can.” He gives Germany’s hand a quick squeeze. “Can I put it in?”

“Yes,” and Italy does, centimeter by centimeter, and when he’s in he holds still and Germany cautiously wraps his legs around Italy’s waist, trying to adjust to the feeling. Italy is shaking a little, and his eyes are closed, and when he says “Can I move?” his voice is a little strained and Germany says “Yes” again and the first slow roll of Italy’s hips is just—amazing.

The pace Italy sets is slow, sometimes pausing between thrusts, never quickening much—like he’s got all the time in the world and there’s no better way to spend it—and Germany wraps his arms around Italy and buries his face in the top of his head and meets every movement as best he can, sighing.

Italy mumbles something indistinct, cranes up to kiss him again and again, and he is so  _gentle_ , so gentle and careful—he always is, that is Italy all over, gentle and friendly and loyal and how could Germany ever have been so lucky as to have someone like Italy even be friends with him, much less this?

He realizes he’s mouthing  _‘Ciano, ‘Ciano_  against the crown of Italy’s head, that Italy is running his hands along Germany’s sides and then one down between his legs and he arches up, gasping.

Italy mutters against the side of his neck and then bites down, again, not hard but enough to leave a mark, and Germany wonders for a second how many of them there’ll be in the morning and doesn’t really have time to dwell on it because Italy hits  _that spot_  and Germany moans quietly.

“Y-you can make noise, you know,” Italy pants, “that’d b-be nice, actually— _ah_  that’s good, mmh—” and then he slows again, deep rolling motions that leave Germany shaking and panting for breath, and Italy’s hand keeps doing what it’s doing and it’s  _good_  at that, and Germany bucks into his hand and his thrusts and lets the tremendous warmth flow through him from every point where they touch, lets Italy go so slowly and deeply that Germany can do little more than hold him and breathe out  _yes yes more like that_.

Italy begins to speed up the tiniest bit, becomes a little more haphazard in his motions, and licks at Germany’s neck, making him moan again—useless to try and stop it now, biting his lip isn’t exactly going to work, not now, not like this, not when Italy feels  _so good_  inside him and he’s wrapped around Germany as tightly as Germany is around him, one hand clutching at his shoulders and the other stroking him just enough out of sync with his movements to make it really very difficult for Germany to know exactly which way to move and it’s a little frustrating but that is overpowered by the  _oh God more please right there_  when Italy  _pushes_  his hips forwards, free hand sliding up from Germany’s shoulder into his hair.

Appearing to have remembered what he said earlier about compliments, Italy starts up again, gasping out  _beautiful_ s and  _love you_ s and  _so goods_  and Germany can’t help it, he gives to the feelings of Italy’s hips against his and Italy’s hand around him and Italy’s words in his head and comes, breathing  _God, ‘Ciano_  into the bedroom air.

 

Somehow, Italy manages to say “’S it okay if I k-keep going?” and Germany, still half-delirious from sheer  _good_ , answers “Yes”.

Italy does, and his motions become even more ragged and his breaths even shorter and it’s most likely a minute and a half but it could be any length of time, neither of them are really in a state to tell, before Italy moans and stills and flops forward on top of Germany, breathing quietly, their arms still around each other.

Eventually, Italy lifts his head. “So—so, it’s like that, see?”

“Yes,” Germany murmurs when he finds his voice again.

“Think y’can? Next time?”

“Yes.”

“Mn. ‘S great!” Italy looks up at him, round dark eyes a little hazy and shining. “’S great.”

Germany kisses Italy’s forehead, absently playing with his mussed hair, and Italy smiles and sits up just enough to roll off the condom, and on his second try Germany grabs the tissue box and wipes them off, and they fall back together in a mess of tangled limbs and tired breaths and warmth.

“Do you want to watch a movie during dinner?” Germany asks eventually, and his voice has gone low and rumbly—he’s more tired than he’d thought—and Italy says “Ah, let’s talk about that later, ‘cause I forgot to mention cuddling is really important too,” and spends the next forty-five minutes demonstrating exactly that, and this had not been anywhere near as difficult as Germany had worried at all.


	14. morning through thin sheets and sweet hands

Ludwig is pulled back to wakefulness slowly, peacefully, in a way he hasn’t been for far too long. Atop him, Feliciano is half-curled up, arms still loosely wrapped around him and curly hair framing his face in a thick, dark-brown mess. Eyeing this sight with half-asleep affection, Ludwig considers for a moment falling back asleep.   
  
His choice is made for him when Feliciano stirs and lifts his head, shifting his limbs which have become tangled in the hotel blankets. Feliciano slurs out something along the lines of “good morning”, dropping his head back onto Ludwig’s chest.   
  
"Morning," Ludwig mumbles back.   
  
"Y’sleep well?" Feliciano’s voice has settled firmly in the I-need-my-coffee register, a quiet, muttery tenor that would  _not_  have made Ludwig tug at his collar if he had been wearing one. Not at all.   
  
"When I  _could_ ,” he replies, ruffling Feliciano’s hair in an attempt to communicate that he’s really not irritated.   
  
Feliciano laughs quietly, muttering against Ludwig’s throat, stubble scratching his Adam’s apple, and slides one thigh between his.   
  
Feliciano is many things, Ludwig thinks, and he loves all of them dearly except for the part where Feliciano leaves wet towels on the floor, but one thing he has never been is a master of subtlety. He flirts, yes, he flirts tremendously, but he is always very clear about what he’s aiming for and—  
  
—ah. Well. His  _hands_  had just been very clear what they were aiming for.   
  
 _Well_.   
  
Two can play at that game, and Ludwig slides his hands down Feliciano’s back to grab at his round backside.   
  
Feliciano bursts into a flurry of laughter and pushes himself forward a little so that they’re nose-to-nose, kicking his legs up. “You wanna?”  
  
"Again?"  
  
"Well, we don’t have to be anywhere and we haven’t got any responsibilities all week and we’re in bed in a hotel and you’re beautiful  _and_  we’re naked so there were really not a lot of ways this could’ve gone from the start and—”   
  
Ludwig hauls him down for a kiss, long and slow, and Feliciano presses close and tangles their legs even further and slides his fingers into Ludwig’s hair, and he’s nearly purring with contentment into Ludwig’s mouth, and all the thick heavy warmth of last-night-early-this-morning floods through Ludwig again.   
  
Feliciano is already trying to wiggle out of the confines of the thin sheets, and it’s tough going, and they end up just kicking the sheets onto the floor. Ludwig kind of wants to put them back on the bed where they belong, but then Feliciano hauls him in for another kiss, and another, and the sheets can wait.   
  
Stretching languidly above him, Feliciano grips at Ludwig’s shoulders and pushes his hips forward, eyes hooded. Ludwig mouths at his throat and moves up, teeth scraping along his jaw, and then realizes his hips are rutting against Feliciano’s and  _then_  realizes that he really doesn’t mind at all. Neither does Feliciano, apparently, judging from the way his nails dig into Ludwig’s shoulders and the way his mouth forms into a little “o” between kisses grown messy and slow and heated.   
  
Feliciano spreads his warm thighs, straddling Ludwig, and Ludwig falls headfirst into the slow rock of their hips and the sweet, sweat-slick slide of their skin and the heady taste of Feliciano with no responsibilities and a whole week to do as they please, and pulls him down and kisses him hard and deep until they’re both breathless. Breaking the kiss, Ludwig moves his head down again to bite at Feliciano’s already marked neck, and Feliciano hisses out a breath and twists his hips down, tangling his fingers in Ludwig’s hair hard enough to pull. He’s panting, sweaty and flushed as Ludwig must be, and they lock eyes for just a moment but it’s long enough to see the haze and the brightness in Feliciano’s, and then he rolls off of Ludwig for just long enough to grab the lube off the nightstand.   
  
When Ludwig slips his fingers in, Feliciano’s still pliable and a little slick from last night, and he takes in a breath and arches his back, pushing back onto the two fingers inside him and gripping the bottom sheet. He probably doesn’t need this much stretching, considering, but Ludwig adds a third finger to see the way Feliciano’s bottom lip catches between his teeth and drink in the little noises he makes.   
  
He notices he hasn’t got a condom, did they run out? but Feliciano doesn’t seem to mind, and—and it might not be that bad, anyway, certainly something to try, and he knows Feliciano doesn’t have any diseases, and he can wash off afterwards anyway and—  
  
—And the breathy sound Feliciano lets out drowns out any objections Ludwig could have made.   
  
"Ready?"  
  
Feliciano nods in response, slicking one of his hands and using it to guide Ludwig inside of him, not easily but oh,  _oh…_  
  
With an experimental bounce that knocks all the breath out of Ludwig’s lungs, Feliciano settles all the way down and then smiles open-mouthed and white-toothed, beautiful in the muted half-light through the curtains and tight and hot and a little strange so close around him. He hums in appreciation and guides Ludwig’s ever-tentative hands to his waist before beginning to roll his hips.   
  
The pressure is beginning to build already, coiled under Ludwig’s abdomen, but he ignores thinking on that in favor of thinking on the curve of Feliciano’s back and the mess that is his hair, on the slow motions of his hips (a whole week, whatever they want, how is Ludwig to survive) and the so-close warmth of him, only skin and slick, so overpowering that Ludwig pulls him back down every time he lifts his hips. Feliciano leans close, cradles Ludwig’s face with one hand and kisses him, other hand between them pleasuring himself, and Ludwig moves a hand from his hips to help and their fingers meet and bump and cross each other.   
  
Feliciano is so good at this, so good and so, so beautiful that Ludwig finds himself telling him so, in deep breathless German that he can’t make head or tail of, dialects and accents and endearments falling messy and jumbled against each other the way Feliciano falls forward against him and bucks into their hands, panting Venetian into Ludwig’s stubbly jawline, so warm and it’s strange and different and familiar and  _good_ —  
  
—Too soon, always too soon, Ludwig comes with a gasp and a shudder, mouthing endearments into the crown of Feliciano’s head. Somewhere he finds the energy to continue stroking Feliciano, who thrusts shallowly into their hands until he comes into their entwined fingers with a quiet moan and flops forwards bonelessly.   
  
Ludwig slips out of Feliciano, and really they should wash, but Feliciano kisses him once more and maybe they can stay for just a few more minutes. He manages to locate Feliciano’s right hand in the tangle of tired, relaxed limbs and brushes his thumb along the knuckles, sighing a bit.   
  
"Was that good?" Feliciano breathes eventually, wiggling down just enough to kiss the spot right over Ludwig’s heart.   
  
"Yes," Ludwig answers, and means it. "Y-you’re not cold, are you?"  
  
"Mm-mm. You’re warm. Good blanket." Feliciano seems to have settled comfortably. "Didn’t mind the bareback, either. ‘S kind of messy, though." Ludwig draws a hand down Feliciano’s back and across the tops of his thighs—ah. Well. They really should wash off, in that case.   
  
"C’mon, shower," he says, extracting himself from the developing hug a little reluctantly, and Feliciano pouts at him and says " _Sollevami?_ " and Ludwig scoops him up—he should work, maybe, on not indulging Feliciano quite so much, but if he did, he wouldn’t have the chance to feel Feliciano grab onto him, to take Feliciano’s right hand and kiss the fingers and the thin ring there quickly, blushing, and mutter " _Alles für meinen Mann._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sollevami: pick me up; alles für meinen mann: anything (i hope, “anything” is hard to translate) for my husband


	15. Logical Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains curlplay.

There was a perfectly logical explanation for this, Ludwig was sure.

Perfectly logical. 

Perfectly reasonable.

Probably the reason was that Feliciano had kissed him, as he did, and then presumably Ludwig had kissed back, and events had quite possibly unfolded in a manner that was… well, entirely foreign to Ludwig except for manuals and some old romance novels abandoned halfway through out of embarrassment but had seemed to involve liberal and heated insertion of Feliciano’s tongue into Ludwig’s mouth and a lot of hands going places they really had no business being.

Perfectly reasonable.

A perfectly logical explanation for the fact that Feliciano had him pinned against the wall (pinned, the man was half a head shorter and far lighter and had Ludwig  _pinned_ , this was  _ridiculous_ ), mouth firmly locked with his and hands wandering dangerously low, one thigh shoved between Ludwig’s, and he still had no idea  _how_  this had happened, logical explanation notwithstanding. Just some very blurry, warm memories of soft lips and groaning and hands in his gelled hair, hands which had now moved down to the front of Ludwig’s pants and hooked under the lip, increasing the warm feeling in his stomach and sending off flurries of butterflies.

Ludwig’s hands moved up Feliciano’s sides to his shoulders, seemingly of their own accord, and gripped tightly, because another interesting thing that required a logical explanation was the sudden weakness in his knees, and the only one that seemed to exist was it was because of Feliciano’s kisses, which wasn’t. Particularly logical, that is.

No matter, though, because they were there, and so were the weak knees and usually by this point Ludwig would have put down the romance novel before he started blushing too hard, to avoid repeats of the time Gilbert had caught him reading one and the teasing hadn’t stopped for _weeks_ , but pulling away from Feliciano just didn’t seem to be an option, never mind that hiding him under the bed would be a horrible method of keeping this from Gilbert and his mind had seriously wandered from the issue at hand, which was the location of Feliciano’s hands uncomfortably close to his crotch. 

Ludwig’s hands, again seemingly of their own accord and he should  _really_  work on getting them under control, had wandered into Feliciano’s thick hair, holding his head close, and then— 

—Feliciano moaned?

_What?_

Not that he hadn’t before, but that one was different, and it seemed to be the reason for Feliciano then grabbing Ludwig’s hips and pulling them against his own  _oh good Lord_  that was— different. Definitely. Um. Well.

What  _was_  it with Feliciano and that one hair, anyway?

Ludwig tugged on it a little, experimentally, and then Feliciano made another weird breathy, squeaky noise into Ludwig’s mouth—Feliciano was nearly on his tiptoes now, trying to kiss and hold Ludwig against the wall—and rolled his hips again, and mumbled “D-do that again.”

“What does it—”

“Just—” —Feliciano didn’t have time to finish his sentence, considering Ludwig had given in and pulled the curl again, made just a bit bolder—they’d got this far and he was pretty sure he hadn’t done anything seriously wrong, after all—and Feliciano then did something honestly really clever with his hips and Ludwig was pretty sure his knees were going to give out very soon.

He found himself only becoming more sure of that idea as Feliciano’s hips continued to move against his and one of his hands began to tangle in the hair at the back of Ludwig’s head, as Ludwig gave the curl another pull, as Feliciano licked into his mouth and did something wonderful with his hips and— _and!_

Ludwig’s head dropped to Feliciano’s shoulder, and he panted, and raised it after a few long seconds, already trying to shrink in embarrassment. “Sorry, I just—sorry—”

Feliciano shook his head, lips swollen, seeming a little dazed. “Nn—‘s okay. Just—just help me—”

Perhaps there wasn’t a quite logical explanation for how Ludwig reached down with one hand, the other left in Feliciano’s hair and tugging at the curl every now and again, hesitantly following Feliciano’s directions (and his pants were kind of getting uncomfortable, too, but that didn’t quite matter yet), but just this once Ludwig decided he could go without one.


	16. At Least It Wasn't Google Translate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I read a fic once (I think it was "La Patisserie de la Rose") where there was a throwaway joke about Feliciano trying to find out how to say "fuck me harder you magnificent filthy German sex pig" in German.

There is a moment of silence after the phrase is yelled, punctuated only by heavy breathing.

“ _What_?”

“Wait, should I repeat it —?”

“ _No_! I mean, no, I heard you, but —  _what_?”

More silence.

“Who taught you how to say that? Don’t say it was Gilbert.”

“No, actually, I taught myself how to say it thank you very much Ludwig.”

A sound that could almost be quiet laughter. “Explains how you didn’t pronounce half of that right, at least.”

“Hmph.”

More silence.

“Um, Ludwig, would you mind moving —”

“Promise me something first.”

“Yes, sure, okay, just —”

“Don’t call me a pig.”

“All right. So about  _moving —_  wait so you didn’t mind the rest of it?”

Silence. “N-not that much.”

“Ooh, okay, I’ll remember tha —  _oh_  —”

Conversation does not take precedence for a while.


End file.
